TALES 


FROM 


THE    GEEMAN, 


COMPRISING 

SPECIMENS  FROM  THE  MOST  CELEBRATED  AUTHORS. 


TRANSLATED  BY 

' 

JOHN  OXENFORD  AND  C.  A.  FEILING. 


LONDON: 

CHAPMAN    AND    HALL,    186,    STRAND. 
1844. 


C.  WHITING,  BEAUFORT  HOUSE,  STRAND. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION v 

LIBUSSA.    BY  J.  H.  MUSJEUS.  (J.  0.)       .......  1 

THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.    BY  FRIEDRICH  SCHILLER.  (J.  0.)  34 

THE  COLD  HEART.    BY  WILHELM  HAUFF.  (C.  A.  F.) 51 

THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.    BY  KARL  IMMERMANN.  (J.  O.)      .        .    .  81 

NOSE,  THE  DWARF.    BY  W.  HAUFF.    (C.  A.  F.) 98 

AXEL.    BY  C.  F.  VANDERVELDE.  (C.  A.  F.) 119 

THE  SANDMAN.    BY  E.  T.  "W.  HOFFMANN.  (J.  0.) 140 

MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.    BY  HEINRICH  VON  KLEIST.  (J.  0.) 165 

THE  KLAUSENBURG.    BY  LUDWIG  TIECK.  (C.  A.  F.) 231 

THE  MOON.    BY  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  RICHTER.  (J.  O.)          ....  261 

THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.    BY  E.  T.  W.  HOFFMANN.  (J.  0.)          ...  268 

ST.  CECILIA  ;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  Music.    BY  H.  VON  KLEIST.  (J.  O.)       .     .  298 

THE  NEW  PARIS.     BY  J.  W.  GOETHE.  (J.  0.) 306 

ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.      BY  ADAM  OEHLENSCHLAEGER.   (C.  A.  F.)             .           .      .  316 

ALA3IONTADE.      BY  HEINRICH  ZSCHOKKE.   (C.  A.  F.) 364 

THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .    BY  E.  T.  W.  HOFFMANN.  (J.  0.)  .        .     .  416 

THE  SEVERED  HAND.    BY  W.  HAUFF.  (C.  A.  F.) 437 


M829342 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  object  of  the  translators  of  the  following  tales  was  to  present 
the  English  public  with  a  collection,  which  should  combine  effec- 
tiveness with  variety,  and  at  the  same  time  should  contain  specimens 
of  the  most  celebrated  writers  of  prose  fiction  whom  Germany  has 
produced.  The  names  of  the  authors  will,  they  think,  be  a  suffi- 
cient guarantee  that  they  have  not  failed  in  this  last  respect,  and  if 
the  reader  finds  himself  amused  or  interested  by  the  series,  they  will 
have  succeeded  entirely. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  collection  is  a  collection  of  tales 
only,  and  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  according  to  the  plan  of 
the  book,  that  these  tales  should  be  numerous.  Any  thing  like  a 
lengthened  novel  was  therefore  excluded,  as  it  would  have  exceeded 
the  prescribed  limits,  or  rendered  impossible  that  variety  which  the 
translators  considered  an  essential  of  their  work.  That  short  tales, 
from  their  very  nature,  cannot  often  promote  any  very  high  purpose, 
and  that  amusement  for  a  leisure  hour  is  their  principal  purpose,  the 
translators  are  perfectly  aware,  admitting  that  their  collection,  gene- 
rally speaking,  does  not  convey  that  amount  of  instruction  in  life  and 
thought,  which  might  be  obtained  from  more  elaborate  works,  such 
as,  for  example,  the  Wilhelm  Meister  of  Gothe.  At  the  same  time 
they  trust  that  Kleist's  Michael  Kohlhaas,  Zschokke's  Alamontade, 
Schiller's  Criminal  from  Lost  Honour*  and  even  Hauff's  fanciful  Cold 
Heart,  will  be  acceptable  to  those  who  look  for  something  beyond 
mere  amusement,  and  that  some  readers  will  be  found  to  appreciate 
the  psychological  truth  and  profundity  of  Hoffmann's  tales  beneath 
their  fantastic  exterior. 

In  their  versions  of  the  tales  the  translators  have  endeavoured,  to 
the  utmost  of  their  power,  to  be  correct,  preferring  even  hardness  of 
language  to  liberties  with  the  original  text.  The  initials  in  the  table 
of  contents  will  show  who  was  the  translator  of  each  particular  tale ; 

*  The  fact  that  Schiller's  "  Ghost  Seer"  is  so  familiar  in  an  English  garb,  that  it  is 
almost  an  English  novel,  is  a  sufficient  reason  that  it  does  not  appear  in  this  col- 
lection. Almost  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  more  celebrated  romance  of  La 
Motte  Fouque. 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

but  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  they  worked  so  separately  that  the 
printer  and  the  binder  have  alone  connected  the  results  of  their  la- 
bours. Every  tale  when  finished  by  the  translator  was  carefully  re- 
vised by  his  colleague.  In  those  instances  alone  have  the  translators 
deviated  from  the  original,  where  they  found  passages  and  phrases 
that  they  conceived  would  not  accord  with  English  notions  of  pro- 
priety. That  in  such  instances  they  have  softened  or  omitted,  needs 
no  apology.* 

It  has  been  suggested  to  the  translators  that  a  notice  of  the  authors 
and  the  works  themselves  might,  with  advantage,  be  prefixed  to  the 
collection.  With  this  suggestion  they  have  complied,  trusting  that 
the  limited  space  allowed  will  be  a  sufficient  excuse  for  the  very 
sketchy  nature  of  the  biographies,  if  indeed  the  following  notices  are 
worthy  of  that  name. 


Gothe  and  Schiller  have  attained  that  universal  celebrity,  that  it 
would  be  mere  impertinence  to  say  any  thing  about  their  lives  in  a 
sketch  like  this.  Those  eminent  promoters  of  German  literature  in 
this  country,  Mr.  T.  Carlyle  and  Sir  E.  B.  Lytton,  have  done  all 
they  could  to  make  the  English  public  familiar  with  the  life  of 
Schiller,  and  a  tolerably  full  notice  of  his  literary  progress  will  be 
found  in  No.  LX.  of  the  Foreign  Quarterly  Review.  Those  who 
can  read  German  are  recommended  to  the  elaborate  life  of  Schiller 
by  Dr.  Hoffineister,  which  is  a  perfect  treasury  of  information  and 
criticism.  The  materials  for  a  biography  of  Gothe  lie  scattered 
through  a  vast  quantity  of  correspondence,  reminiscences,  conversa- 
tions, and  characteristics;  but  a  biography,  such  as  the  greatness  of 
the  subject  requires,  is  still  a  desideratum  in  German  literature. 

The  New  Paris,  by  Gothe,  which  appears  in  this  collection,  is 
from  that  delightful  autobiography,  to  which  the  poet  has  given  the 
name  of  Dichtuny  und  Wahrheit.  The  circumtances  under  which 
it  is  told  are  sufficiently  explained  by  the  short  introduction  prefixed 
to  it.  Schiller's  Criminal  from  Lost  Honour  was  written  during 
what  is  called  the  "  second  period"  of  his  life,  when  after  the 
completion  of  Don  Carlos  he  had  quitted  dramatic  writing  for  a  time, 
and  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  philosophy  and  history.  The 
facts  of  the  story  he  had  learned  from  his  friend  Abel  at  an  early 
period.  Hoffmeister's  remarks  on  this  story  may  be  found  in- 
teresting. 

"  This  misguided  man,  Wolf,"  says  Hoffmeister,  "  appears  as  a 
mournful  sacrifice  to  the  law,  which,  from  this  example,  should  learn 

*  This  has  been  especially  the  case  with  "  Libussa,"  which  is  often  indelicate  in 
the  original.  An  oversight  in  the  translation  of  that  tale  should,  however,  be  cor- 
rected. The  provincial  word,  "  Imine,"  should  be  translated  "  Queen-bee,"  not 
"  ant."  Vide  p.  14,  line  5  from  the  bottom. 


INTRODUCTION.  VU 

mercy.  The  severity  of  law  has,  from  a  merely  conventional  offence, 
elicited  a  grievous  crime,  and  him,  who  sinned  from  thoughtlessness, 
and  was  delivered  to  the  care  of  justice,  she  has  cast  off  as  though 
he  were  absolutely  worthless.  The  progress  in  crime,  which  is 
gradually  forced  upon  the  man  by  civil  institutions,  and  his  return  to 
virtue,  when  vice  has  completed  her  lesson,  are  developed  and  painted 
to  our  eyes  with  extraordinary  art.  Every  action  is  deduced  from 
thoughts  and  motives;  and  these,  again,  are  deduced  from  states  of 
mind,  which  necessarily  result  from  the  reciprocal  action  which  the 
soul  of  the  man,  and  the  circumstances  by  which  he  was  surrounded, 
had  upon  each  other.  Everywhere  do  we  find  natural  connexion; 
not  a  link  in  the  chain  is  wanting.  This  psychological  novel,  like  a 
tragedy,  awakens  in  the  reader  not  only  pity,  but  terror.  He  feels 
that  in  the  situation  of  the  unhappy  man,  he  would  not  have  been 
better  himself.  The  writer  fulfils  his  purpose  of  plucking  us  down 
from  our  proud  security.  Man  is  just  as  good  or  bad,  we  say  to 
ourselves,  as  his  external  situation;  out  external  situation  is  the 
fate  of  all  of  us ;  and  we  see  in  the  history  of  a  single  individual  a 
sketch  of  the  common  lot  of  man.  Moreover,  this  history  of  the 
1  criminal'  is  so  remarkable  in  point  of  style,  that  one  always  reads  it 
with  fresh  interest.  The  language  is  extremely  simple,  clear,  and 
natural,  and  there  is  not  a  trace  of  the  wearisome,  constantly  oc- 
curring breaks,  and  the  affected  antitheses  that  marked  Schiller's  early 
style.  Every  thing  shows  that  the  author  moved  in  a  clear,  free  ele- 
ment. In  some  portions  he  has  been  eminently  successful;  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  describing  the  poacher's  state  of  mind,  when  he  is  about  to 
point  his  gun,  at  his  evil  genius,  Robert.  If,  after  all  our  praise,  we 
have  one  particular  to  blame,  it  is  this  circumstance,  that  the  weakly 
and  delicate  '  host  of  the  Sun,'  who  had  not  as  yet  distinguished 
himself  in  the  trade  of  thieving,  should  have  been  unanimously 
chosen  by  the  robbers  for  their  leader,  on  his  first  entrance  into  their 
cave.  Although  he  was  well  known  to  them  as  a  good  poacher,  they 
might  yet  have  reasonable  doubts  whether  he  was  qualified  to  be 
their  captain." 

Before  quitting  Gothe  and  Schiller,  it  is  as  well  to  state  that  Gothe 
was  born  at  Frankfort  on  the  Maine,  on  the  28th  of  August,  1749, 
and  died  at  Weimar  on  the  22nd  of  March,  1832;  and  that  Schiller 
was  born  at  Marbach,  on  the  Neckar,  on  the  10th  of  November, 
1759,  and  died  at  Weimar  on  the  9th  of  May,  1805. 

Johann  August  Muslius,  one  of  the  most  popular  tale  writers  of 
Germany,  was  born  at  Jena,  in  1 735.  His  father  was  a  justice  there, 
and  was  soon  afterwards  removed  to  Eisenach,  by  an  official  appoint- 
ment. Young  Muslius  was  educated  by  a  relation  named  Weissenborn, 
who  held  the-  situation  of  "  General  Superintendent"  at  Eisenach, 
and  with  whom  he  lived  from  the  age  of  nine  to  that  of  nineteen. 
He  studied  theology  for  four  years  at  Jena,  and  it  is  thought  he 
might  have  succeeded  as  a  pastor  had  not  the  peasants  of  Eisenach 
refused  to  accept  him,  because  he  had  been  convicted  of  the  grievous 


Vlii  INTRODUCTION. 

crime  of — dancing.  In  consequence  of  this  check  to  his  theolo- 
gical career,  he  turned  his  thoughts  to  literature,  and  made  his  first 
essay  by  a  parody  on  Richardson's  celebrated  novel,  called  Grandi- 
son  the  Second,  which  first  appeared  in  1760.  In  1763  he  was  made 
Pagenhofmeister  (governor  of  the  pages)  at  the  court  of  Weimar, 
and  some  years  afterwards  professor  at  the  Gymnasium  of  that  place. 
A  considerable  period  elapsed  before  he  again  appeared  as  an  author, 
when  he  satirised  Lavater  in  a  novel  called  the  Physiognomical 
Travels.  This  had  an  immense  success,  encouraged  by  which,  he 
proceeded  to  collect  materials  for  his  Popular  Tales  of  the  Ger- 
mans. This  collection  he  made  in  a  singular  manner.  Sometimes 
he  would  gather  round  him  a  crowd  of  old  women  with  their  spin- 
ning-wheels and  listen  to  their  gossip,  sometimes  he  would  hear  the 
stories  of  children  from  the  street.  On  one  occasion,  his  wife,  re- 
turning from  a  visit,  was  surprised,  as  she  opened  the  room-door,  by 
a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  through  which  she  at  last  discovered  her 
husband  sitting  with  an  old  soldier,  who  was  telling  him  all  sorts  of 
tales.  On  the  stories  collected  by  him  thus  strangely,  and  afterwards 
narrated  with  great  humour,  though  with  occasional  vulgarity,  the 
fame  of  Musa'us  chiefly  depends.  They  were  written  under  the 
assumed  name  of  Runkel,  and  were  designed,  according  to  the 
author's  own  statement,  to  put  an  end  to  the  taste  for  sentimentality. 
He  began  a  new  series  of  tales  called  Ostrich  Feathers,  of  which  he 
only  completed  one  volume.  On  the  28th  of  October,  1787,  he  died 
of  a  polypus  in  the  heart,  and  a  handsome  monument  was  erected  to 
him  by  an  unknown  hand.  His  Popular  Tales  were,  at  the  re- 
quest of  his  widow,  re-edited  after  his  death  by  the  celebrated  Wie- 
land,  and  this  is  the  edition  now  current.  The  story  of  Libussa, 
which  is  taken  from  the  Popular  Tales  is  founded  on  the  Latin 
history  of  Bohemia,  by  Dubravius,  and  the  work  of  JEneas  Sylvius, 
De  Boliemorum  gestis  et  oriyine.  The  fables  which  are  uttered 
by  the  personages  will  be  found  in  Dubravius. 

The  name  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter  is  almost  as  well  known 
here  as  that  of  Gothe  and  Schiller;  but  the  eccentricity  of  his  style, 
and  the  quantity  of  local  allusions  with  which  he  abounds,  will 
probably  for  ever  prevent  his  works  from  being  extensively  read 
out  of  Germany.  Jean  Paul  was  born  at  Wimsiedel,  in  the  Baircuth 
territory,  in  the  early  part  of  1763,  and  died  at  Baireuth  on  the  14th 
of  November,  1825.  He  first  wrote  under  the  signature  of  "  Jean 
Paul"  only,  this  he  extended  to  "  J.  P.  F.  Halsus,"  and  it  was  to  his 
Quintus  Fixlein  (1796),  that  he  first  affixed  his  real  and  entire 
name.  In  1780  he  went  to  Leipzig,  but  this  he  soon  abandoned 
and  resided  for  some  time  at  Schwarzbach.  He  visited  various 
cities  where  he  was  greatly  respected,  and  received  the  title  of  "Le- 
gutionsrath"  from  the  Duke  of  Sachsen-Hildburghauscn,  with  a  pen- 
sion, which  was  afterwards  paid  by  the  King  of  Bavaria.  His 
favourite  residence  was,  however,  his  native  Baireuth.  A  complete 
edition  of  his  works,  which  are  very  numerous,  was  published  at 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

Berlin  in  21  vols.,  small  octavo,  in  the  year  1840,  and  another  in  4 
vols.,  royal  octavo,  has  been  published  by  Baudry  of  Paris.  The 
short  tale  of  the  Moon  will  give  the  reader  a  slight  notion — only  a 
slight  one — of  Jean  Paul's  peculiarities.  It  is  prefixed  in  the  original 
to  Quintus  Fixlein.  An  interesting  paper  on  Jean  Paul  will  be  found 
in  Mr.  Carlyle's  admirable  Miscellanies. 

The  fame  of  Ludwig  Tieck  as  a  writer  of  romances,  and  an   en- 
thusiastic 
literature, 

history  of  the  "  romantic"  school,  Tieck  takes  a  most  prominent 
position,  being  one  of  the  chief  colleagues  and  most  zealous  partisans 
of  the  brothers  Schlegel.  He  was  born  at  Berlin  on  the  31st  of  May, 
1773,  and  even  at  school  displayed  his  talents  for  composition  by 
the  commencement  of  his  Abdallah.  He  studied  at  Halle,  Gb't- 
tingen,  and  Erlangen,  and  read  history  and  poetry,  both  ancient 
and  modern,  with  great  assiduity.  In  1796,  his  novel,  William 
Lovell,  was  published  at  Berlin.  A  journey  from  Berlin  to  Jena 
made  him  acquainted  with  the  Schlegels  and  Hardenberg  (Novalis), 
and  at  Weimar  he  became  intimate  with  Herder.  His  satirical 
dramas  of  Blue  Beard  and  Puss  in  Boots,  displayed  an  Aristophanic 
vein,  and  his  works  relating  to  art,  began  to  attract  general  attention. 
These  were  The  Outpourings  from  the  Heart  of  an  Art-loving 
Cloister -brother  (Berlin,  1797),  the  fantasies  of  Art  (Hamburg, 
1799),  and  Franz  Sternbald's  Travels  (Berlin,  1798),  in  all  of 
which  his  friend  Wackenrode  more  or  less  took  a  part.  Tieck  cul- 
tivated his  taste  for  the  fine  arts  by  a  residence  in  Dresden,  Munich, 
and  Rome,  and  at  Jena  kept  up  his  acquaintance  with  Schelling  and 
the  Schlegels.  In  the  years  1799 — 1801,  he  published  his  transla- 
tion of  Don  Quixote,  and  about  the  same  period  several  works  of 
imagination.  In  1801-2  he  resided  at  Dresden,  and  edited,  with 
A.  W.  Schlegel,  the  Musenalmanach.  For  the  diffusion  of  a  taste 
for  the  middle-age  literature  of  Germany,  Tieck  made  an  important 
contribution  by  his  publication  of  a  selection  of  the  Minnelieder  from 
the  Swabian  period,  that  is  to  say,  the  period  of  the  German  empe- 
rors during  the  dynasty  of  the  HohenstaufTen  family,  with  an  ela- 
borate preface,  in  which  he  called  the  attention  of  the  Germans  to 
their  old  poetry.  In  1804  appeared  his  romantic  drama  of  The 
Emperor  Octavian,  and  in  1805  he  published,  in  connexion  with 
T.  Schlegel,  the  works  of  his  deceased  friend  Hardenberg  (Novalis),* 
which  may  be  classed  among  the  most  extraordinary  phenomena  of 
modern  literature.  The  preface  to  this  edition  is  entirely  by  Tieck.  A 
long  pause  now  ensued  in  the  midst  of  his  literary  productiveness, 
during  which  he  visited  Rome.  In  1814  and  1816  appeared  his  Old 
English  Theatre,  consisting  of  translations  from  our  early  drama,  and 
in  the  same  year  he  published  the  work  to  which,  more  than  to  any 
other,  he  owes  his  celebrity  in  this  country,  his  Phantasus.  The  entire 

*  An  admirable  paper  on  Novalis  is  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  Miscellanies. 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

work  lias  never  been  translated,  but  the  tales  which  are  introduced 
into  it,  such  as  the  Blond  Ecklert  and  the  Trusty  Eckart,  are 
generally  known.  Another  contribution  to  the  study  of  the  old 
German  literature  he  made  by  his  edition  of  Ulrich  von  Lichten- 
stein's  Frauendienst  (service  of  ladies),  a  kind  of  romance,  by  a  cele- 
brated Minnesanger,  and  a  collection  of  plays  under  the  title  of  Old 
German  Theatre.  In  1818  he  visited  London,  where  he  was  re- 
ceived with  great  respect,  and  employed  his  time  in  making  collec- 
tions for  the  study  of  Shakspeare,  in  Schlegel's  translation  of  whom 
he  has  taken  an  important  part.  Since  1821  he  has  chiefly  been 
engaged  with  a  series  of  novels,  which  are  widely  different 
from  his  former  manner,  and  he  is  now  (we  believe)  resident  at 
Berlin.  The  tales  from  the  Phantasm  being  already  so  generally 
known,  one  of  a  totally  different  kind  has  been  given  in  this  volume. 
The  powerful  tale  of  the  Klausenburg  is  from  Tieck's  collected 
novels. 

Heinrich  von  Kleist,  from  whom  two  tales  have  been  taken, 
is  another  poet  of  the  romantic  school,  and  was  born  at  Frankfort 
on  the  Oder,  in  1777.  He  led  an  unsettled  kind  of  life,  residing 
successively  at  Paris,  Dresden,  and  Berlin,  and  after  the  battle  of 
Jena,  retired  from  the  latter  city  to  Kb'nigsberg,  where  he  devoted 
himself  to  literary  pursuits.  Returning  to  Berlin  during  the 
French  occupation  of  Prussia,  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  though 
he  was  shortly  afterwards  released,  this  imprisonment  seems  to  have 
had  a  fatal  effect  upon  a  temperament  naturally  morbid.  In  1811,  at 
Potsdam,  he  voluntarily  terminated  his  own  existence,  and  that  of 
an  invalid  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  His  works,  which  are  some- 
what numerous,  consist  of  dramas  and  tales,  and  are  all  distinguished 
by  a  sort  of  rugged  power.  Of  his  plays,  the  most  celebrated  is 
the  romantic  drama,  Kathchen  von  Heilbronn,  and  of  his  tales,  the 
narrative  of  Michael  Kohlhaas,  contained  in  this  collection.  A 
complete  edition  of  his  works  was  published  at  Berlin,  in  1821,  by 
the  indefatigable,  Ludwig  Tieck.  The  critical  remarks  which  he  has 
made  on  Kohlliaas,  may  be  extracted  with  profit. 

"  Michael  Kohlliaas"  says  Tieck,  "  is  unquestionably  the  most  re- 
markable of  all  Kleist's  narratives,  and  if  we  see  with  what  firmness  he 
sketches  the  various  forms,  how  faithfully  the  events  and  feelings  are 
deduced  from  each  other,  with  what  steadiness  the  narrator  advances, 
step  by  step,  we  are  tempted  to  believe  that  this  style  is  more  suitable  to 
the  author,  and  that  his  talents  might  have  shone  forth  more  brilliantly 
here  than  in  the  drama.  Here,  as  in  his  plays,  we  see,  as  in  the 
form  of  a  law-suit,  the  misfortune  and  the  guilt  of  a  remarkable 
man  unfolded  before  his  eyes.  Few  writers  understand  how  to 
shake  our  hearts  to  the  very  depth,  like  Kleist,  and  this  is  pre- 
cisely because  he  goes  to  work  with  so  steady  a  purpose,  and  con- 
sciously avoids  all  soft  sentimentality.  The  insulted  and  injured 
Kohlhaas  becomes  unhappy; — nay,  becomes  a  criminal  through  his 
misery  and  his  keen  sense  of  justice,  until  he  is  called  back  from 


INTRODUCTION.  xi 

his  career  by  the  revered  Luther,  and  by  his  means  obtains  a  hearing 
for  his  suit,  so  that  he  can  stand  boldly  forward.  It  is  only  by  chance 
without  any  fault  on  his  own  part,  that  he  finds  at  Dresden,  that 
his  position  has  grown  more  unfavourable.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
call  attention  to  the  masterly  hand  which  has  portrayed  all  the 
characters  from  the  prince  and  Luther,  down  to  the  humblest  menial, 
in  such  living  colours,  that  we  seem  to  behold  the  realities  them- 
selves. Whether  it  was  by  intention  or  unconsciously,  the  writer 
has  made  important  deviations  from  history.  This  might  be  excused 
on  account  of  his  leading  motive,  and  the  admirable  freshness  of  his 
colouring  ;  but  he  is  more  culpable  for  his  incorrectness  in  the 
necessary  circumstances  of  an  event,  which  did  not  happen  so  very 
long  ago, — circumstances  which  can  scarcely  escape  the  recollection 
of  the  reader.  Kleist  forgets  that  Wittenberg,  not  Dresden,  was  the 
residence  of  the  Elector  of  Saxony.  Moreover,  he  describes 
Dresden  just  according  to  its  present  aspect.  The  old  town, 
(Altstadt)  scarcely  existed  at  the  time,  and  what  shall  we  say  of  the 
elector  himself,  who  appears  as  a  romantic,  amorous,  eccentric,  fan- 
tastical personage,  when  certainly  it  must  have  been  either  Fred- 
erick the  Wise,  or  the  Steadfast,  who  belonged  to  the  period  of 
the  narrative  ?  By  over  haste — for  it  certainly  was  not  from 
design — this  excellent  story  loses  its  proper  costume  and  accompany- 
ing circumstances,  whereas  it  would  have  been  far  more  effective  had 
the  author  allowed  himself  time  to  place  himself  in  the  period  with 
greater  truth.  Another  consequence  of  this  deficiency  in  true  locality 
is,  that  the  author,  after  long  alluring  us  bv  his  truth  and  nature, 
leads  us  through  a  fanciful  visionary  world,  which  will  not  accord  with 
the  previous  one,  which  he  has  taught  us  to  know  so  accurately.  That 
wondrous  gipsy,  who  afterwards  turns  out  to  be  the  deceased  wife 
of  Kohlhaas,  that  mysterious  inscription,  those  ghost-like  forms,  that 
sick,  half-mad,  and,  afterwards,  disguised  elector;  those  weak,  for 
the  most  part,  characterless  forms,  which,  nevertheless,  come  forward 
with  a  pretension,  as  if  they  would  be  considered  superior  to  the  real 
world  previously  described,  as  if  they  would  sell  as  dearly  as  possible 
that  mysterious  nature,  which  comes  to  us  little  as  possible, — that 
horrible  foreboding  which  the  author  suddenly  feels  in  the  presence  of 
the  creatures  of  his  own  fancy — all  this,  we  say,  reminds  us  so  forcibly 
of  many  a  weak  product  of  our  times,  and  of  the  ordinary  demands 
of  the  reading  public,  that  we  are  forced,  mournfully,  to  admit  that 
even  distinguished  authors,  like  Kleist — who  in  other  respects  does 
not  participate  in  these  diseases  of  his  day — must  pay  their  tribute 
to  the  time  that  has  produced  them." 

No  literature  can  produce  a  more  original  writer,  than  Ernst 
Theodore  Amadeus  Hoffmann,  from  whom  the  translators  have  not 
scrupled  to  take  three  stories.  Some  have  called  Hoffmann  an  imi- 
tator of  Jean  Paul,  but  the  assertion  seems  to  be  made  rather  because 
both  writers  are  of  an  eccentric  and  irregular  character,  than  because 
their  eccentricities  and  irregularities  are  similar.  However  wild  may 

I 


xii  [INTRODUCTION. 

be  the  subjects  of  Hoffmann,  and  however  rambling  his  method  of 
treating  them,  his  style  is  remarkably  lucid;  and  while  Jean  Paul  is 
one  of  the  most  difficult  authors  for  a  foreigner  to  read,  Hoffmann  is 
comparatively  easy.     He  was  born  at  Konigsberg  on  the  24th  of 
January,  1776,  where  he  studied  law,  and  in  1800  became  assessor 
of  the  government   at   Posen.     In  1802  he  became  a   councillor 
of  the  government  at  Plock,  and  in  1803  went  in  a  similar  capa- 
city to  Warsaw.     His  legal  career  was  terminated  by  the  invasion  of 
the  French,  in  1806,  and  he  made  use  of  his  musical  talents  to  ob- 
tain a  subsistence.     In  the  autumn  of  1808  he  accepted  the  invita- 
tion of  Count  Julius  von  Soden  to  go  to  a  theatre  at  Bamberg, 
where  he  was  appointed  musical  director.     The  theatre  soon  closed, 
and  he  was  reduced  to  such  distress  that  he  was  forced  to  part  with 
his  last  coat.     He  then  occupied  himself  with  musical  instruction, 
and  contributed  to  the  Leipzig  Musikalisclie  Zeitung.     From  1813 
to  1815  he  conducted  the  orchestra  of  a  theatrical  company,  alter- 
nately in  Dresden  and  Leipzig,  and  in  1816  was  appointed  councillor 
of  the  royal  Hammer gericht  in  Berlin,  where  he  died  on  the  24th  of 
July,   1822.      Hoffmann  had  devoted  himself  to  music  from  his 
earliest  years,  he  composed  the  music  for  an  opera  on  the  subject  of 
Undine,  played  at  the  Berlin  theatre,  and  many  of  his  writings  have 
an  immediate  reference  to  the  feelings  and  fortunes  of  the  musician. 
This  is  conspicuous  in  the  collection  called,  Fantasia-pieces  in  Cal- 
lofs  Manner i  which  he  published  in  1814,  and  which  was  followed 
by  his  Devil's  Elixir,  published  in  1816.     His  works,  consisting  of 
narratives,  are  very  numerous,  and  were  published  at  Berlin,  in  fifteen 
volumes,  and  by  Baudry,  of  Paris,  in  one  volume,  royal  octavo. 
Among  the  most  conspicuous  are  the  fantastic  Confessions  of  Tom- 
cat Murr,  the  collection  called  the  Serapions  Brothers,  and  Master 
Flea.    Many  of  Hoffmann's  stories  have  been  translated  into  English, 
but  they  have  not  been  so  successful  here  as  in  France,  where,  when 
the  translations  appeared,  they  created  a  complete  furore.     Of  the 
tales  in  this  collection,  the  Sandman,  and  the  Jesuits'  Church,  are 
from  the  "  night-pieces,"  and  the  Elementary  Spirit  is  from  Hoff- 
mann's "  later  works."     In  all  these  stories  it  will  be  observed  that 
Hoffmann's  purpose  is  to  point  out  the  ill-effect  of  a  morbid  desire 
after  an  imaginary  world,  and  a  distaste  for  realities.     Different  as 
their  adventures  are,  there  is  a  striking  similarity  in  the  characters 
of  Nathaniel,  Victor,  and  the  painter  Bcrthold,  and  Hoffmann  seems 
to  be  exhibiting  his  own  internal  nature  as  the  extreme  of  unhealthi- 
ness.     The  same  tone  may  be  perceived  in  his  other  writings,  and 
his  obvious  reverence  for  the  prosaic  and  common-place,  as  the  anti- 
thesis to  himself,  is  remarkable.     The  story  of  the  Sandman  had  its 
origin  in  a  discussion  which  actually  took  place  between  La  Motte 
Fouque  and  some  friends,  at  which  Hoffmann  was  present.     Some 
•  if  the  party  found  fault  with  the  cold,  mechanical  deportment  of  a 
v<>ui!Lf  lady  t-l'ilu-ir  acquaintance,  while  La  Motte  Fouque  zealously 
lli-i«-  IloiJhiiini)  i  .ru"ht  the  notion  of  the  automaton 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlii 

Olympia,  and  the  arguments  used  by  Nathaniel  are  those  that  were 
really  employed  by  La  Motte  Fouque. 

A  writer  of  extraordinary  fancy  and  invention,  but  working  for  a 
more  obvious  purpose,  and  producing  narratives  more  related  in  cha- 
racter to  popular  legends,  was  Wilhelm  HaufF,  of  whom  likewise 
there  are  three  specimens  in  this  volume.  He  was  born  on  the  29th 
of  November,  1809,  at  Stuttgard,  and  in  early  life  showed  a  great 
predilection  for  telling  childish  narratives.  Being  designed  for  the 
theological  profession,  he  went  to  the  University  of  Tubingen  in 
1820.  Afterwards  he  became  a  private  teacher  at  Stuttgard,  and 
began  his  literary  career  with  the  Almanack  of  Talcs  for  the  year 
1826.  This  was  followed  by  Contributions  from  Satan's  Me- 
moirs, and  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  the  latter  of  which  was  de- 
signed to  satirise  the  popular  writer  Clauren.  HaufF's  historical 
romance  of  Lichtenstdn  acquired  great  celebrity,  and  the  collec- 
tion of  tales  called  the  Caravan,  which  have  contributed  to  this 
volume,  are  in  the  happiest  vein.  HaufF  needs  only  to  be  known  to 
become  popular  in  any  country.  His  works,  which  are  somewhat 
numerous,  although  he  died  before  he  had  completed  his  twenty-sixth 
year  (18th  of  November,  1827),  were  published  in  a  complete  edition 
by  the  poet  Gustav  Schwab,  in  1830. 

Adam  Oehlenschlager  appears  as  the  head  of  the  romantic  party 
in  Denmark,  though  he  is  as  well  known  to  the  Germans  as 
the  Danes,  having  published  his  works  in  both  languages.  He  was 
born  near  Copenhagen,  on  the  14th  of  November,  1779,  and  passed 
his  youth  in  the  Castle  Friedrichsberg,  where  his  father  was  castel- 
lan. He  began  to  study  law  in  1800,  but  soon  quitted  the  study, 
and,  at  the  cost  of  the  government,  travelled  through  Germany, 
France,  and  Italy.  He  was  then  appointed  Professor  of  "  ./Esthetics" 
at  the  University  of  Copenhagen,  and,  in  1816,  took  another  jour- 
ney through  the  countries  above-named,  and  visited  Sweden  in 
1829,  where  he  was  received  with  enthusiasm,  and  was  made  Doctor 
of  Philosophy  by  the  University  of  Lund.  The  dramatic  tale  of 
Aladdin,  published  at  Leipzig  in  1808,  first  made  him  known  in 
Germany,  and  his  fame  has  been  maintained  by  a  variety  of  narra- 
tives, some  founded  on  the  legends  of  his  own  country  ;  and  a  num- 
ber of  dramas,  of  which  his  beautiful  Corregio  is  the  most  cele- 
brated. The  tale  of  Ali  and  Gulhyndi,  which  appears  in  this  col- 
lection, is  most  striking  for  its  felicitous  resemblance  of  the  Oriental 
style  of  fiction.  Oehlenschlager's  entire  works  were  published  at 
Breslau,  in  eighteen  volumes. 

Karl  Immermann,  who  is  exceedingly  admired  by  a  section  of 
the  German  literati,  was  born  at  Magdeburg,  in  1796,  and  died  at 
Diisseldorf  in  1841.  He  was  a  precocious  genius,  having  composed 
a  drama  and  a  romance  at  the  early  age  of  sixteen.  Joining  the 
volunteers  during  the  war  with  France,  he  was  present  during  the 
whole  campaign  in  the  Netherlands,  and  was  in  France  in  1815. 
He  became,  in  1827,  counsellor  of  the  provincial  court  (Land- 


XIV  INTRODUCTION, 

gerichtsrath)  at  Diisseldorf.  At  this  time  he  entertained  a  notion  of 
forming  a  national  German  theatre;  but  his  scheme  proved  a  failure, 
notwithstanding  he  adopted  all  sorts  of  decorative  means  to  ensure 
success.  His  works,  which  are  very  numerous,  have  been  collected, 
and  one  of  them,  a  mythical  drama,  called  Merlin,  is  placed  by  his 
admirers,  with  more  enthusiasm  than  judgment,  by  the  side  of 
Gothe's  Faust.  The  tale  in  this  volume  is  from  his  Munchhausen, 
a  work  of  unequal  merit,  but  displaying  great  genius  and  originality. 
A  very  full  account  of  it  will  be  found  in  the  Foreign  Quarterly 
Review,  No.  LXI. 

Franz  Karl  van  der  Velde,  the  author  of  Axel,  was  a  popular 
author  of  historical  romances,  born  at  Breslau  in  1779.  Passing 
through  a  variety  of  judicial  appointments,  he  died  at  Breslau  in 
1824.  His  works,  which  were  published  at  Dresden,  in  1824,  oc- 
cupy twenty-five  volumes. 

Of  all  the  modern  writers  of  Germany,  there  is  none  more  truly 
popular  than  Johann  Heinrich  Daniel  Zschokke,  however  doubtful  it 
may  be  whether  his  wonderful  popularity  be  commensurate  with  his 
merit.  He  was  born  at  Magdeburg,  in  1771 ;  and,  after  the  completion 
of  his  juvenile  education,  travelled  about  with  a  company  of  strolling 
players.  Becoming  reconciled  with  his  relations,  after  this  vagabond 
life,  he  went  to  the  University  at  Frankfort  on  the  Oder,  where  he 
studied  in  a  desultory  manner.  After  travelling  through  Germany, 
Switzerland,  and  France,  he  settled  in  the  Grisons,  and  took  a  most 
active  part  in  Swiss  politics,  to  follow  which  would  exceed  the 
bounds  of  a  sketch  of  this  sort.  His  History  of  Switzerland  is  a 
standard  work ;  and  his  collection  of  tales,  copious  as  it  is,  forms  a 
vast  treasury  of  fiction  for  his  admirers.  The  account  which  Zschokke 
himself  gives  of  his  Alamontade,  is  added  to  that  tale.* 


Here  closes  this  imperfect  sketch.  It  is  not  intended  to  convey 
any  new  information  to  those  who  are  acquainted  with  German 
literature;  but  it  may,  at  least,  be  of  use  in  conveying  a  few  facts 
and  dates  to  the  general  English  reader. 

*  To  Zschokke  is  attributed  the  religious  work  Stunden  der  Andacht,  a  judicious 
selection  from  which  has  been  translated  by  Mr.  Haas. 


TALES  FROM  THE  GERMAN. 


LIBUSSA. 

BY  J.  H.  MUS^US. 

DEEP  in  the  Bohemian  forest,  of  which  now  only  a  shadow  re- 
mains, dwelt  years  ago,  when  it  spread  itself  far  and  wide  into  the 
country,  a  little  spiritual  people,  aeriel,  uncorporeal,  and  shunning  the 
light.  They  were  of  a  finer  nature  than  mankind,  which  is  formed 
out  of  gross  clay,  and  were  therefore  imperceptible  to  the  coarser  sense ; 
but  to  the  more  refined  they  were  half  visible  by  moonlight,  being 
well  known  to  the  poets  under  the  name  of  the  Dryads,  and  to  the 
old  bards  under  the  name  of  the  Elves.  From  time  immemorial  they 
had  lived  undisturbed  here,  until  the  forest  suddenly  resounded  with 
the  tumult  of  war;  Duke  Czech,  of  Hungary,  crossed  the  mountains 
with  his  Slavonic  hordes,  to  seek  a  new  dwelling-place  in  this  spot. 
The  beautiful  inhabitants  of  the  aged  oaks,  of  rocks,  caves  and  grot- 
toes, as  well  as  those  of  the  reeds  in  ponds  and  marshes  fled  from  the 
noise  of  weapons,  and  the  snorting  of  war-horses.  Even  for  the 
mighty  Erl-king  the  tumult  was  too  much,  and  he  removed  his 
court  to  the  more  remote  deserts.  One  elf  alone  could  not  resolve 
to  quit  her  beloved  oak,  and  when  the  wood  was  hewn  down  in  every 
direction  to  make  the  land  arable,  she  alone  had  the  courage  to  de- 
fend her  tree  against  the  power  of  the  new  comers,  and  chose  its 
lofty  top  for  her  abode. 

Among  the  courtiers  of  the  duke  was  a  young  squire,  named 
Crocus,  full  of  courage  and  youthful  fire,  active,  well  made,  and 
of  noble  stature.  To  him  was  entrusted  the  care  of  his  master's 
horses,  which  he  sometimes  drove  out  to  feed  in  the  forest  Often 
he  rested  under  the  oak  which  the  elf  inhabited;  she  regarded 
the  stranger  with  pleasure,  and  when  at  night  he  slumbered  by  the 
root,  she  whispered  pleasant  dreams  into  his  ear,  predicted  to  him  in 


2  LIBUSSA. 

significant  images  the  events  of  the  coming  day ;  or  if  one  of  his 
horses  had  strayed  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  keeper  had  lost  all 
traces  of  him,  and  went  to  sleep  with  heavy  heart,  he  saw  in  his 
dream  the  marks  of  the  concealed  path  which  led  to  the  spot  where 
the  stray  horse  was  feeding. 

The  farther  the  new  settlers  spread  the  nearer  did  they  approach 
the  dwelling  of  the  elf,  who  by  means  of  her  faculty  of  divination 
foresaw  how  soon  the  axe  threatened  her  tree  of  life,  and  therefore 
resolved  to  communicate  her  trouble  to  her  friend.  One  moonlight 
summer's  evening  Crocus  drove  his  herd  later  than  usual  into  the 
fence,  and  hastened  to  his  usual  couch  beneath  the  tall  oak.  His 
road  wound  about  a  lake  well  stored  with  fish,  in  the  silver  waves  of 
which  the  golden  crescent  was  reflected  in  the  shape  of  a  glittering 
cone.  Straight  over  this  shining  part  of  the  lake,  on  the  opposite 
shore,  he  perceived  in  the  vicinity  of  the  oak  a  female  form,  that 
seemed  to  be  walking  on  the  cool  bank.  This  apparition  surprised 
the  young  warrior.  "  Whence,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  could  this 
maiden  come,  so  solitary  in  these  deserts,  at  the  time  of  evening  twi- 
light?" But  the  adventure  was  of  such  a  nature,  that  to  a  young  man 
it  was  more  alluring  than  alarming  to  search  into  the  affair.  He 
doubled  his  pace  without  losing  sight  of  the  form  which  occu- 
pied his  attention,  and  soon  reached  the  place  where  he  had  first 
perceived  her,  under  the  oak.  It  now  seemed  to  him  as  if  what  he 
saw  was  more  of  a  shadow  than  a  reality.  He  stood  astounded,  and 
a  cold  shuddering  came  over  him ;  but  he  heard  a  soft  voice,  which 
whispered  to  him  these  words:  "  Come  hither,  dear  stranger,  and  be 
not  afraid;  I  am  no  deceptive  form,  no  delusive  shadow;  I  am  the  elf 
of  this  grove,  the  dweller  in  the  oak,  under  the  thick-leaved  boughs 
of  which  thou  hast  often  slumbered ;  I  lulled  thee  to  sweet  delightful 
repose,  foretold  to  thee  what  would  befall  thee,  and  if  a  mare  or  a 
colt  of  thy  herd  had  strayed,  I  told  thee  of  the  place  where  it  was  to 
be  found.  Repay  this  favour  by  another  service  which  I  require  of 
thee.  Be  the  protector  of  this  tree,  which  has  so  often  protected 
thee  against  sun  and  rain,  and  prevent  the  murderous  axe  of  thy 
brothers,  who  are  destroying  the  woods,  from  injuring  this  venerable 
trunk." 

The  young  warrior,  whose  courage  revived  at  this  soft  discourse, 
answered  thus:  "  Goddess  or  mortal,  whichever  thou  art,  ask  of  me 
whatever  thou  pleasest,  and  if  I  can  I  will  accomplish  it.  But  I  am 
only  a  humble  man  among  my  people,  the  servant  of  my  lord  the 
duke.  If  he  says  to  me  to-day  or  to-morrow,  *  feed  your  horses  here, 
feed  them  there,'  how  shall  I  be  able  to  protect  thy  tree  in  this  re- 
mote wood?  But  if  thou  commandest  it  I  will  leave  the  service  of 
my  prince,  dwell  in  the  shadow  of  thine  oak,  and  protect  it  as  long 
as  my  life  lasts."  "  Do  so,"  said  the  elf,  "  and  thou  wilt  not  repent 
of  it."  Upon  this  she  vanished,  and  there  was  a  rustling  in  the  tree 
above,  as  if  some  loud  evening  breeze  had  caught  itself  there,  and 
was  moving  the  leaves.  Crocus  stood  for  awhile  quite  enchanted  at 


LIBUSSA.  3 

the  heavenly  apparition  which  had  appeared  to  him.  Such  a  deli- 
cate, truly  feminine  creature,  of  such  a  slender  form,  and  of  such 
noble  appearance  he  had  never  seen  among  the  stunted  Slavonic 
girls.  At  last  he  stretched  him  upon  the  soft  moss,  although  sleep 
did  not  close  his  eves ;  morning  twilight  surprised  him  in  a  tumult 
of  delicious  sensations,  which  were  to  him  as  strange  and  novel  as 
the  first  beam  of  light  to  the  newly  opened  eyes  of  one  who  has  been 
born  blind.  At  the  break  of  day  he  hastened  to  the  duke's  palace, 
asked  for  his  dismissal,  packed  up  his  baggage,  and  hastily  started 
with  his  head  filled  with  glowing  fantasies  and  his  burden  on  his  back, 
for  his  delightful  retreat  in  the  forest. 

During  his  absence,  however,  an  artificer  among  the  people,  by 
trade  a  miller,  had  pitched  upon  the  sound  straight  trunk  of  the  oak 
as  an  axle  for  his  mill-wheel,  and  went  with  his  men  to  fell  it.  The 
trembling  elf  sighed  when  the  greedy  saw  began  with  its  iron  teeth 
to  gnaw  the  foundations  of  her  dwelling.  From  the  top  of  the  tree 
she  looked  anxiously  around  for  her  faithful  protector;  but  her  glance 
was  unable  to  discover  him  anywhere,  and  her  consternation  rendered 
the  gift  of  prophecy  peculiar  to  her  race  so  ineffective,  that  she  no 
more  ventured  to  decipher  her  impending  fate  than  the  sons  of  Es- 
culapius  with  their  boasted  "  prognosis"  are  able  to  tell  when  death 
will  knock  at  their  own  doors. 

However  Crocus  was  on  his  way,  and  so  near  the  scene  of  this 
mournful  catastrophe,  that  the  noise  of  the  creaking  saw  reached  his 
ears.     He  augured  no  good  from  this  noise  in  the  forest,  and  setting 
wings  to  his  feet  beheld — horrible  sight — the  impending  destruction 
of  the  tree  he  had  taken  under  his  protection  in  his  very  presence, 
e  a  madman  he  flew  upon  the  workmen  with  his  spear  and  drawn 
word,  and  frightened  them  from  their  work;  for  they  thought  that 
mountain  demon  was  in  their  presence  and  fled  in  great  confusion, 
fortunately  the  tree's  wound  was  curable,   and  in  a  few  summers 
he  scar  had  disappeared. 

In  the  hours  of  rest  in  the  evening,  after  the  new-corner  had  se- 
ected  a  spot  for  his  future  dwelling,  had  marked  out  the  space  to  be 
icdged  in  for  a  little  garden,  and  had  again  considered  in  his  mind  the 
,vhole  plan  of  the  hermitage  in  which  he  designed  to  pass  his  days, 
ar  removed  from  human  society,  in  the  service  of  a  shadowy  friend, 
tfho  seemed  to  be  totally  unreal,  the  elf  appeared  to  him  on  the 
)anks  of  the  lake,  and  with  graceful  gestures  thus  accosted  him: 
'  Thanks,  dear  stranger,  that  thou  hast  prevented  the  strong  arms 
rf  thy  brethren  from  felling  this  tree,  to  which  my  life  is  attached; 
for  know  that  mother  nature,  who  has  endowed  my  race  with  such 
various  powers  and  faculties,  has  nevertheless  united  our  life  to  the 
growth  and  duration  of  the  oaks.  Through  us  does  the  queen  of 
:he  forest  raise  her  venerable  head  above  the  rabble  of  other  trees 
and  shrubs;  we  promote  the  circulation  of  the  sap  through  trunk 
and  branches,  so  that  she  gains  strength  to  combat  with  the  whirl- 
wind, and  to  defy  for  centuries  the  destroying  power  of  time.  On 

B2 


4  LIBUSSA. 

the  other  hand,  our  life  is  knit  to  hers.  When  the  oak,  to  whom 
fate  has  assigned  us  as  a  partner,  grows  old,  we  grow  old  with  it, 
and  when  it  dies,  we  die  away  also,  and  sleep  like  mortals,  a  sleep  of 
death,  until  by  the  eternal  revolution  of  all  things,  chance  or  some 
secret  arrangement  of  nature  unites  our  being  to  a  new  germ,  which 
opened  by  our  vivifying  power,  sprouts  up  after  a  long  time  to  a 
mighty  tree,  and  affords  us  the  joys  of  life  anew.  From  this  thou 
mayst  perceive  what  a  service  thou  hast  rendered  me  by  thy  assist- 
ance, and  what  gratitude  is  due  to  thee.  Require  of  me  the  reward 
of  thy  noble  act,  reveal  to  me  the  desire  of  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  be 
fulfilled  at  once." 

Crocus  was  silent.  The  sight  of  the  charming  elf  had  made  upon 
him  more  impression  than  her  discourse,  of  which  he  understood 
but  little.  She  perceived  his  confusion,  and  to  extricate  him  from 
it  took  a  dry  reed  from  the  bank  of  the  lake,  broke  it  into  three 
pieces,  and  said:  "  Choose  one  of  these  three,  or  take  one  without 
choice.  In  the  first  is  fame  and  honour,  in  the  second  are  riches 
and  wise  use  of  them,  and  in  the  third  happy  love  is  contained  for 
thee."  The  young  man  cast  his  eyes  to  the  ground  and  answered: 
"  Daughter  of  Heaven,  if  thou  intendest  to  grant  the  wish  of  my 
heart,  know  that  it  is  not  contained  in  the  three  reeds  which  thou 
offerest ;  my  heart  seeks  a  still  greater  reward.  What  is  honour  but 
the  fuel  of  pride,  what  are  riches  but  the  root  of  avarice,  and  what  is 
love  but  the  trap  of  passion,  to  ensnare  the  noble  liberty  of  the  heart? 
Grant  me  my  desire  of  resting  beneath  the  shadow  of  thy  oak,  from 
the  fatigue  of  the  campaign,  and  of  hearing  from  thy  sweet  mouth 
doctrines  of  wisdom,  that  thus  I  may  decipher  the  future."  "  Thy 
wish,"  replied  the  elf,  "  is  great,  but  what  thou  deservest  at  my  hands 
is  not  less,  and  therefore  let  it  be  as  thou  hast  requested.  The 
bandage  before  thy  corporeal  eyes  shall  vanish,  that  thou  mayst  be- 
hold the  secrets  of  hidden  wisdom.  With  the  enjoyment  of  the  fruit 
take  also  the  shell,  for  the  wise  man  is  also  held  in  honour.  He  alone 
is  rich,  for  he  desires  no  more  than  he  actually  needs,  and  he  tastes 
the  nectar  of  love  without  poisoning  it  with  impure  lips."  When  she 
had  said  this  she  again  presented  him  the  three  pieces  of  reed,  and 
vanished. 

The  young  hermit  prepared  his  bed  of  moss  under  the  oak,  highly 
delighted  at  the  reception  which  the  elf  had  accorded  him.  Sleep 
overcame  him  like  an  armed  man,  cheerful  morning  dreams  danced 
round  his  head,  and  nourished  his  fancy  with  the  fragrance  of 
happy  anticipations.  As  soon  as  he  woke  he  joyously  began  his 
day's  work,  built  himself  a  commodious  hut,  dug  his  garden, 
and  planted  roses  and  lilies,  and  other  sweetly- smelling  flowers  and 
vegetables,  not  without  cabbages  and  kitchen  Jicrbs,  besides  an  assort- 
ment of  fruit-trees.  The  elf  did  not  fail  to  pay  him  a  visit  in  the 
twilight  of  every  evening,  took  pleasure  in  the  produce  of  his  in- 
dustry, walked  with  him  hand  in  hand  along  the  reedy  bank  of  the 
pond,  until  the  waving  reed  murmured  forth  a  melodious  evening 


f  LIBUSSA.  5 

greeting  to  the  friendly  pair,  when  the  breeze  rustled  through  it. 
The  elf  initiated  her  docile  pupil  into  the  secrets  of  nature,  in- 
structed him  in  the  origin  and  issue  of  things,  taught  him  their 
natural  and  magical  qualities  and  virtues,  and  formed  the  rough 
warrior  to  a  thinker  and  a  philosopher. 

In  the  same  degree  as  the  feelings  and  senses  of  the  young  man 
became  more  refined  by  his  intercourse  with  the  fair  shadow,  the 
tender  form  of  the  elf  became  denser,  and  acquired  more  con- 
sistency. Her  bosom  was  filled  with  animation  and  life,  fire  glis- 
tened from  her  hazel  eyes,  and  with  the  form  of  a  young  girl,  she 
seemed  also  to  have  acquired  the  feelings  of  one.  In  a  few  months 
the  sighing  Crocus  was  blessed  with  the  happiness  which  the  third 
reed  had  promised  him,  and  did  not  regret  that  the  freedom  of  his 
heart  was  ensnared  by  the  trap  of  love.  Although  the  marriage  of 
the  tender  pair  took  place  without  witnesses,  it  was  productive  of  as 
much  happiness  as  the  most  obstreperous  nuptials,  and  in  due  time 
pledges  of  conjugal  affection  were  not  wanting.  The  elf  presented 
her  husband  with  three  daughters  at  one  birth,  and  the  de- 
lighted father,  in  the  first  embrace,  called  her  who  had  cried  in  his 
house  before  the  two  others,  Bela;  the  next  Therba,  and  the 
youngest  Libussa.  All  were  like  genii  in  the  beauty  of  their 
form ;  and  although  they  did  not  consist  of  such  a  delicate  material 
as  their  mother,  their  corporeal  nature  was  finer  than  the  coarse 
earthy  form  of  their  father.  They  were  also  free  from  all  the  in- 
firmities of  children,  and  needed  no  leading  strings,  for,  after  the 
first  nine  days,  they  all  ran  like  so  many  partridges.  As  they  grew 
up,  they  displayed  all  their  mother's  talent  for  detecting  hidden 
things,  and  predicting  the  future. 

With  the  aid  of  time,  Crocus  also  acquired  much  knowledge  of 
these  mysteries.  When  the  wolf  had  dispersed  the  cattle  in  the 
wood,  and  the  shepherds  searched  about  for  their  lost  sheep  and 
oxen ;  when  the  woodmen  missed  an  adze  or  a  hatchet,  they  sought 
advice  from  the  wise  Crocus,  who  told  them  where  to  find  what 
they  had  lost.  If  a  bad  neighbour  made  away  with  any  of  the 
common  property,  broke  at  night-time  into  the  fold  or  dwelling 
of  another,  robbed  him,  or  murdered  his  host,  and  no  one  could 
guess  who  was  the  criminal,  the  wise  Crocus  was  always  sought  for 
counsel.  He  then  summoned  the  community  to  a  grass-plot,  made 
them  form  a  circle,  stepped  into  the  midst  of  it,  and  let  the  infallible 
sieve  turn,  which  invariably  pointed  out  the  malefactor.  His  fame 
was  thus  spread  over  all  the  land  of  Bohemia,  and  whoever  had  an 
affair  or  any  business  of  importance,  consulted  the  wise  man  as  to  its 
issue.  Nay,  cripples  and  sick  persons  sought  from  him  aid  and 
recovery;  even  diseased  cattle  were  brought  to  him,  and  he  knew 
how  to  cure  ailing  cows  with  his  shadow,  as  well  as  the  renowned 
St.  Martin,  of  Schierbach.  The  concourse  of  people  that  sought 
him  increased  every  day,  just  as  if  the  tripod  of  the  Delphic  Apollo 
had  been  removed  to  the  Bohemian  forest;  and  although  Crocus, 


6  LIBUSSA.  , 

without  gain  and  reward,  gave  his  information  to  those  that  ques- 
tioned him,  and  healed  the  sick  and  crippled,  the  treasure  of 
his  mysterious  wisdom  proved  very  productive,  and  brought  him 
great  profit;  for  the  people  pressed  to  him  with  their  gifts,  and 
quite  overwhelmed  him  with  the  proofs  of  their  good-will.  He 
first  revealed  the  secret  of  washing  gold  out  of  the  sand  of  the  Elbe, 
and  received  a  tenth  from  all  who  collected  the  gold  sand.  Thus 
his  means  and  his  wealth  were  increased  ;  he  built  strong  castles 
and  palaces,  he  kept  large  herds  of  cattle,  he  possessed  fertile  lands, 
woods,  and  fields,  and  imperceptibly  found  himself  in  the  pos- 
session of  all  the  wealth  which  the  liberal  elf  had  prophetically 
enclosed  for  him,  in  the  second  piece  of  reed. 

One  fine  summer  evening,  when  Crocus,  with  his  attendants,  was 
returning  from  an  excursion,  where  he  had  settled  the  boundary 
disputes  of  two  neighbouring  congregations  at  their  request,  he 
perceived  his  wife  on  the  brink  of  the  pond,  where  she  had  first 
appeared  to  him.     She  beckoned  to  him  with  her  hand,  so  he  dis- 
missed his  retinue,   and  hastened  to  embrace  her.     As  usual,  she 
received  him  with  tender  love,  but  her  heart  was  oppressed  and 
mournful,  while  from  her  eyes  trickled  ethereal  tears,  so  fair  and 
transient,  that  they  were  hastily  absorbed  by  the  air,  without  reach- 
ing the  earth.     Crocus  was  astonished  at  the  sight,  for  he  had  never 
seen  the  eyes  of  his  wife  look  otherwise  than  cheerful,  and  with  all 
the  brilliancy  of  youthful  joy.     "  What  ails  thee,  beloved  of  my 
heart?"  said  he;  "  my  soul  is  torn  by  uneasy  forebodings.     Tell 
me,  what  is  the  meaning  of  these  tears?"     The  elf  sighed,  leaned 
her  head  mournfully  on  his  shoulder,  and  said:  "  Dear  husband,  in 
thine  absence  I  have  read  in  the  book  of  fate,  that  an  unhappy  des- 
tiny threatens  my  tree  of  life;  I  must  leave  thee  for  ever.     Follow 
me  to  the  castle,  that  I  may  bless  my  children,  for  from  this  clay 
you  will  never  see  me  again."     "Oh,  my  beloved,"  replied  Crocus, 
"  banish  these  melancholy  thoughts !    What  misfortune  can  threaten 
thy  tree?     Are  not  its  roots  and  trunk  firmly  fixed?     Look  at  its 
healthy  branches,  as,  laden  with  fruit  and  leaves,  they  extend  them- 
selves, and  see  how  it  raises  its  top  to  the  clouds.     As  long  as 
this  arm  moves,  it  shall  defend  itself  against  every  impious  man  who 
shall  dare  to  injure  its  trunk." — "  Weak  is  the  protection,"  replied 
she,  "  which  a  mortal  arm  can  afford !    Ants  can  only  contend  with 
ants,  gnats  only  with  gnats,  and  all  the  worms  of  the  earth  can 
merely  guard  off  their  like.     What  can  the  strongest  of  you  do 
against  the  operations  of  nature,  or  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  fate? 
The  kings  of  the  earth  can  easily  overthrow  the  little  mounds  whicli 
you  call  your  fortresses  and  castles,  but  the  slightest  breeze  scorns 
their  power,  rustles  when  its  pleases,  and  heeds  not  their  command. 
Thou  hast  already  defended  this  oak  against  the  might  of  man,  but 
canst  thou  also  resist  the  whirlwind,  when  it  arises  to  strip  the 
leaves  from  its  boughs;  or  if  a  concealed  worm  gnawed  at  its  core, 
could  you  draw  it  forth  and  crush  it?" 


LIBUSSA.  7 

Discoursing  thus,  the  affectionate  pair  entered  the  castle.  The 
slender  maidens  sprang  joyfully  towards  them,  as  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  do  on  their  mother's  evening  visits,  gave  an  account  of 
their  daily  occupation,  brought  their  embroidery  and  needle-work 
as  a  proof  of  their  industry  and  skill;  but,  on  this  occasion,  the  hour 
of  domestic  happiness  was  totally  joyless.  The  girls  soon  perceived 
that  the  traces  of  deep  sorrow  were  imprinted  on  their  father's  face, 
and  saw  with  sympathising  grief  their  mother's  tears,  without  ven- 
turing to  inquire  into  the  cause.  Their  mother  gave  them  many 
wise  instructions  and  good  admonitions;  but  her  discourse  was  like 
the  song  of  a  swan,  as  if  she  were  about  to  take  leave  of  the  world. 
She  remained  with  her  beloved  family  till  the  morning-star  arose; 
she  then  embraced  her  husband  and  children  with  melancholy  ten- 
derness, retired  to  her  tree  as  usual,  at  day-break,  through  a  secret 
door,  and  left  them  all  to  the  most  melancholy  forebodings. 

Nature  was  in  breathless  silence  as  the  sun  rose ;  but  his  beaming 
head  was  soon  obscured  by  dark  heavy  clouds.  It  was  a  sultry 
day ;  the  whole  atmosphere  was  electrical.  Distant  thunders  rolled 
along  over  the  wood,  and  echo,  with  a  hundred  voices,  repeated  the 
fearful  sound  in  the  winding  valleys.  At  noon,  a  forked  flash  of 
lightning  darted  down  upon  the  oak,  and  shattered  root  and  branches 
in  one  moment,  with  resistless  force,  so  that  the  fragments  lay  scat- 
tered far  and  wide  in  the  forest.  When  this  was  told  to  Crocus,  he 
rent  his  clothes,  and  went  out  with  his  daughters  to  mourn  over  his 
wife's  tree  of  life,  and  to  collect  and  preserve  the  splinters  as  precious 
relics.  The  elf  was  no  more  to  be  seen  from  that  day. 

After  some  years,  the  tender  girls  grew  up,  their  virgin  form 
bloomed  as  a  rose  starting  from  the  bud,  and  the  fame  of  their 
beauty  was  spread  all  over  the  country.  The  noblest  youths  among 
the  people  came  forward,  and  had  all  sorts  of  petitions  to  lay  before 
Father  Crocus,  and  ask  his  advice.  In  truth  this  was  but  a  pretext, 
that  they  might  ogle  the  lovely  girls,  as  young  fellows  often  feign 
some  business  with  the  fathers,  if  they  wish  to  coax  the  daughters. 
The  three  daughters  lived  together  in  great  ease  and  concord, 
little  aware  of  their  own  talents.  The  gift  of  prophecy  was  pos- 
sessed by  them  all  in  equal  degree,  and  their  discourses  were  oracles 
without  their  knowing  it.  Soon,  however,  their  vanity  was  excited 
by  the  voice  of  flattery,  the  word-catchers  snapped  up  every  sound 
from  their  lips,  the  Seladons  interpreted  every  gesture,  traced  the 
slightest  smile,  watched  the  glance  of  their  eyes,  drawing  from  them 
indications  more  or  less  favourable,  fancied  they  would  thence  gather 
their  destinies,  and  from  that  time  it  has  been  the  custom  among 
lovers  to  question  the  good  or  bad  star  of  love  in  the  horoscope  of 
the  eyes.  Scarcely  had  vanity  insinuated  itself  into  the  virgin  heart, 
than  pride  was  at  the  door  with  all  the  rabble  of  his  train, — self- 
love,  self-praise,  obstinacy,  selfishness,  and  all  these  stole  in  toge- 
ther. The  elder  sisters  vied  with  each  other,  to  excel  the  younger 
in  her  arts,  and  secretly  envied  her  on  account  of  her  superior 


8  LIBUSSA. 

charms,  for  although  all  were  very  beautiful,  Libussa  was  the  most 
beautiful  of  them  all.  The  Lady  Bela  particularly  devoted  herself 
to  the  study  of  herbs,  as  Lady  Medea  did  in  the  days  of  old.  She 
knew  their  hidden  virtues,  and  how  to  extract  from  them  efficacious 
poisons  and  antidotes,  as  well  as  to  prepare  from  them  scents,  plea- 
sant and  unpleasant,  for  the  invincible  powers.  When  her  censer 
smoked,  she  charmed  down  the  spirits  from  the  immeasurable  space 
of  ether  on  the  other  side  of  the  moon,  and  they  became  subject  to 
her,  that  with  their  fine  organs  they  might  inhale  these  sweet  per- 
fumes, but  when  she  flung  the  offensive  scent  into  the  censer,  she 
would  have  forced  the  Zihim  and  Ohim  out  of  the  desert. 

The  Lady  Therba  was  as  ingenious  as  Circe  in  contriving  magic 
spells  of  all  sorts,  which  had  force  enough  to  sway  the  elements,  to 
raise  storms  and  whirlwinds,  hail  and  tempest,  to  shake  the  very 
bowels  of  the  earth,  or  to  lift  it  out  of  its  very  hinges.  She  made 
use  of  these  arts  to  terrify  the  people,  that  she  might  be  honoured 
and  feared  as  a  goddess,  and  knew  better  how  to  accommodate  the 
weather  to  the  wishes  and  caprices  of  mankind,  than  wise  nature 
herself.  Two  brothers  quarrelled  because  they  never  could  agree 
in  their  wishes.  One  was  a  husbandman,  who  always  wished  for 
rain  that  his  seed  might  thrive.  The  other  was  a  potter,  who  always 
wished  for  sunshine,  that  he  might  dry  his  earthen  pots,  which  were 
destroyed  by  the  rain.  Because  the  heavens  never  would  satisfy 
them,  they  went  one  day  with  rich  presents  to  the  house  of  the 
wise  Crocus,  and  told  their  wishes  to  Therba.  The  elf's  daughter 
smiled  at  the  boisterous  complaints  of  the  brothers  against  the  bene- 
ficent arrangements  of  nature,  and  satisfied  the  wishes  of  both, 
letting  rain  fall  on  the  seed  of  the  agriculturist,  and  sunshine  on  the 
field  of  the  potter.  By  their  magic  arts  the  two  sisters  acquired 
great  fame  and  vast  wealth,  for  they  never  communicated  their 
gifts  without  reward ;  they  built  castles  and  villas  out  of  their  trea- 
sures ;  they  laid  out  fine  pleasure  gardens ;  they  were  never  weary 
of  feasting  and  merry-making,  and  they  jilted  the  suitors  who  sought 
their  love. 

Libussa  had  not  the  proud  vain  disposition  of  her  sisters.  Although 
she  possessed  the  same  faculty  of  penetrating  into  the  secrets  of  na- 
ture and  using  her  hidden  virtues,  she  was  satisfied  with  the  share 
of  miraculous  power  she  had  inherited  from  her  mother  without 
carrying  it  further,  that  she  might  make  a  profit  of  it.     Her  vanity 
did  not  go  beyond  the  consciousness  of  her  own  beauty ;  she  did  not 
thirst  after  riches,  and  she  did  not,  like  her  sisters,  wish  either  to  be 
feared  or  honoured.     When  these  kept  up  a  constant  bustle  in  their 
villas,  hurried  from  one  exciting  pleasure  to  another,  and  attached 
the  flower  of  the  Bohemian  knighthooA  to  their  triumphal  car,  she 
remained  at  home  in  her  father's  dwelling,  managed  the  household 
affairs,  gave  council  to  those  who  asked  for  it,  kindly  assisted  the 
oppressed  and  distressed, — and  all  from  mere  good  will  without  any 
reward.     Her  disposition  was  gentle  and  modest,  her  life  chaste  and 


LIBUSSA.  9 

virtuous  such  as  became  a  noble  maiden.  She  was,  to  be  sure,  secretly 
pleased  at  the  victories  which  her  beauty  gained  over  the  hearts  of 
men,  and  she  received  the  sighs  and  cooing  of  pining  adorers,  as  a 
fitting  tribute  to  her  charms,  but  no  one  dared  breathe  to  her  a  word 
of  love,  or  presume  to  solicit  her  heart.  Yet  the  wag  Cupid  loves 
better  than  any  thing  to  exercise  his  rights  with  the  coy,  and  will 
often  throw  his  burning  torch  on  a  low  straw-thatched  shed  when 
he  intends  to  fire  a  lofty  palace. 

An  old  knight,  who  had  come  into  the  land  with  an  army  of  the 
Czechites,  had  settled  deep  in  the  forest.  He  had  made  the  wilder- 
ness arable,  and  had  laid  out  an  estate,  on  which  he  intended  to 
pass  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  peace,  living  on  the  produce  of  his 
fields.  However  a  powerful  neighbour  took  possession  of  the  pro- 
perty, and  drove  out  the  knight,  whom  a  hospitable  countryman 
took  in,  giving  him  a  shelter  in  his  own  dwelling.  The  poor  old 
man  had  a  son,  who  was  the  only  prop  and  consolation  of  his  age — 
a  fine  youth,  who  however  possessed  nothing  but  a  hunting  spear, 
and  a  well  practised  fist  to  support  his  father.  The  plunder  by  the 
unjust  Nabal  excited  his  revenge,  and  he  armed  himself  to  repel 
force  with  force.  The  command  of  the  careful  old  man,  who  did 
not  wish  to  expose  the  life  of  his  son  to  any  danger,  disarmed  the 
noble  youth,  but  afterwards  he  was  determined  not  to  relinquish  his 
original  design.  So  his  father  called  him,  and  said,  "  Go,  my  son,  to 
the  wise  Crocus,  or  to  the  wise  virgins  his  daughters,  and  ask  them 
whether  the  gods  approve  of  thine  enterprise,  and  will  grant  a  favour- 
able issue  to  it.  If  so,  thou  mayst  gird  on  thy  sword,  take  thy  spear 
in  thy  hand,  and  fight  for  thy  patrimony.  If  not,  remain  here  till 
thou  hast  closed  mine  eyes,  and  then  do  as  seems  right  to  thee." 

The  youth  set  out  and  first  reached  the  palace  of  Bela,  which  had 
the  appearance  of  a  temple,  inhabited  by  a  goddess.  He  knocked 
and  desired  to  be  admitted,  but  the  porter,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  the 
stranger  appeared  with  empty  hands,  dismissed  him  as  a  beggar, 
and  closed  the  door  in  his  face.  He  proceeded  sorrowfully,  and 
came  to  the  dwelling  of  Therba,  where  he  knocked  and  desired  a 
hearing.  The  porter  peeped  out  of  the  window,  and  said,  "'If  thou 
bearest  gold  in  thy  pocket  so  that  thou  canst  weigh  it  out  to  my 
mistress,  she  will  give  thee  one  of  her  wise  sayings  that  will  tell  thee 
thy  fate.  If  not,  go  and  gather  on  the  shore  of  the  Elbe  as  much  of  it 
as  the  tree  has  leaves,  the  sheaf  has  ears,  and  the  bird  has  feathers, 
and  then  I  will  open  this  door  for  thee."  The  youth  thus  again 
deceived,  departed  quite  out  of  heart,  especially  when  he  learned 
that  the  prophet  Crocus  had  gone  to  Poland,  to  officiate  as  umpire 
between  some  Magnates,  who  could  not  agree  together  He  expected 
no  better  reception  from  the  third  sister,  and  when  he  saw  her  pa- 
ternal forest-castle  from  a  hill  in  the  distance,  he  did  not  venture  to 
approach  it,  but  concealed  himself  in  a  thick  bush  to  brood  over  his 
grief.  He  was  soon  roused  from  his  gloomy  reflections  by  a  noise 
like  the  tramp  of  horses'  feet.  A  flying  roe  darted  through  the 


10  LIBUSSA. 

bushes  followed  by  a  beautiful  huntress  and  her  attendants,  all 
mounted  on  magnificent  steeds.  She  hurled  a  javelin  which  whizzed 
through  the  air  without  reaching  the  animal.  The  youth  who 
watched  the  scene,  at  once  caught  up  his  cross-bow,  and  from  the 
twanging  string  sent  forth  a  winged  arrow  which  darted  at  once 
through  the  heart  of  the  beast,  so  that  it  fell  down  on  the  spot. 
The  lady,  surprised  at  this  unexpected  phenomena,  looked  round  for 
the  unknown  hunter,  which,  when  the  marksman  perceived,  he 
stepped  forward  and  bowed  humbly  to  the  ground.  The  Lady 
Libussa  thought  she  had  never  seen  a  handsomer  man.  At  the  very 
first  glance  his  frame  made  upon  her  so  strong  an  impression  that 
she  could  not  help  being  involuntarily  prepossessed  in  his  favour,  and 
confessing  he  was  of  a  noble  figure.  "  Tell  me,  dear  stranger," 
said  she,  "  who  are  thou,  and  what  chance  has  conducted  thee  to 
these  precincts?"  The  youth  rightly  surmised  that  his  good  fortune  had 
allowed  him  to  find  what  he  sought,  so  he  modestly  communicated  his 
wishes,  not  forgetting  to  say,  how  uncivilly  he  had  been  dismissed 
from  the  doors  of  her  sisters,  and  how  much  he  had  been  afflicted  in 
consequence.  She  cheered  his  mind  with  kind  words.  "  Follow 
me  to  my  dwelling,"  said  she,  "  I  will  question  for  thee  the  book  of 
fate,  and  to-morrow  at  sunrise  I  will  give  thee  information." 

The  youth  obeyed  her  orders :  here  there  was  no  churlish  porter 
to  prevent  his  entrance  into  the  palace ;  here  the  lovely  resident 
exercised  the  law  of  hospitality  most  liberally  towards  him.  He 
was  delighted  with  this  favourable  reception,  but  still  more  so  with  the 
charms  of  his  fair  hostess.  The  enchanting  form  flitted  before  his 
eyes  all  night,  and  he  carefully  guarded  against  the  approach  of  sleep, 
that  the  events  of  the  past  day  which  he  reflected  on  with  delight 
might  not  leave  his  thoughts  for  a  single  moment.  The  Lady  Li- 
bussa on  the  other  hand,  enjoyed  a  gentle  slumber,  for  retirement 
from  the  impressions  of  the  outward  senses,  which  disturb  the  fine 
anticipations  of  the  future,  is  indispensable  to  the  gift  of  prophecy. 
Nevertheless  the  glowing  fancy  of  the  elf's  sleeping  daughter 
united  the  form  of  the  young  stranger  to  all  the  visionary  forms 
that  appeared  to  her  in  the  night.  She  found  him  where  she 
did  not  seek  him,  and  under  such  circumstances  that  she  could 
not  understand  how  she  should  have  any  relation  to  this  stranger. 
When  the  fair  prophetess,  on  waking  early  in  the  morning,  endea- 
voured as  usual  to  separate  and  unravel  the  visions  of  the  night,  she 
was  disposed  to  reject  them  altogether  as  illusions  that  had  sprung 
from  an  aberration  of  fancy,  and  to  give  them  no  more  attention. 
But  a  dark  feeling  told  her  that  the  creation  of  her  fancy  was  not 
a  mere  empty  dream,  but  that  it  pointed  to  certain  events,  which 
the  future  would  unfold,  and  that  this  same  prophetic  fancy,  had  in 
the  night  just  passed,  overheard  the  secret  counsels  of  destiny 
better  than  ever,  and  had  blabbed  them  out  to  her.  In  the  same 
way,  she  found  that  the  guest  now  under  her  roof  was  violently 
inflamed  with  ardent  love,  and  her  heart  quite  as  unreservedly 


LIBUSSA.  11 

made  her  the  same  confession  with  respect  to  him ;  but  she  set  the 
seal  of  secrecy  upon  the  information,  while  the  modest  youth,  on  his 
side,  had  vowed  that  he  would  impose  silence  on  his  tongue  and  on  his 
eyes,  that  he  might  not  expose  himself  to  contemptuous  refusal :  for 
the  barrier  which  fortune  had  set  up  between  him  and  the  daughter 
of  Crocus  seemed  to  him  insurmountable. 

Although  the  fair  Libussa  knew  perfectly  well  what  answer  to 
give  to  the  young  man's  question,  she  felt  it  very  difficult  to  allow 
him  to  depart  so  quickly.  At  sunrise  she  appointed  a  meeting 
with  him  in  the  garden  and  said:  "  The  veil  of  darkness  still  hangs 
before  my  eyes;  to  know  thy  destiny  wait  till  sunset."  In  the 
evening  she  said:  "  Wait  till  sunrise :"  on  the  following  morning 
"  Wait  throughout  this  day,"  and  on  the  third,  "  Have  patience 
till  to-morrow."  At  last,  on  the  fourth  day,  she  dismissed  him, 
because  she  had  no  pretext  for  detaining  him  any  longer,  without 
discovering  her  secret,  and  with  kind  words  she  gave  him  this 
information:  "It  is  not  the  will  of  the  gods  that  thou  shouldst 
contend  with  a  mighty  one  in  the  land ;  endurance  is  the  lot  of  the 
weaker.  Go  to  thy  father :  be  the  consolation  of  his  age,  and  sup- 
port him  with  the  labour  of  thy  industrious  hand.  Take  from  my 
herd  two  white  bulls  as  a  present,  and  take  this  rod  to  guide  them. 
When  it  blooms  and  bears  fruit  the  spirit  of  prophecy  will  rest  upon 
thee."  The  youth  considered  himself  unworthy  of  the  lovely 
maiden's  presents,  and  blushed  to  accept  a  gift  without  being  able  to 
return  it.  With  lips  void  of  eloquence,  but  with  a  demeanour  so 
much  the  more  eloquent,  he  took  a  sorrowful  farewell,  and  found 
tied  up  by  the  gate  a  couple  of  white  bulls,  as  plump  and  shining 
as  the  divine  bull  of  old,  upon  whose  sleek  back  the  virgin  Europa 
swam  through  the  blue  waves.  Joyfully  he  unloosened  them,  and 
drove  them  gently  along.  The  road  here  seemed  but  a  few  yards 
in  length,  so  completely  was  his  soul  occupied  with  the  thoughts  of 
the  fair  Libussa,  and  as  he  felt  he  never  could  share  her  love,  he 
vowed  he  would,  at  any  rate,  never  love  another  as  long  as  he  lived. 
The  old  knight  was  delighted  at  his  son's  return,  and  still  more 
delighted  when  he  learned  that  the  advice  of  the  wise  Crocus's 
daughter  so  perfectly  accorded  with  his  own  wishes.  The  youth 
being  destined  by  the  gods  to  follow  the  calling  of  a  husbandman, 
did  not  delay  to  yoke  his  white  bulls  to  the  plough.  The  first  attempt 
succeeded  according  to  his  wishes ;  the  bulls  were  so  strong  and  so 
spirited,  that  in  one  day  they  turned  up  more  land  than  twelve 
oxen  would  commonly  have  managed. 

Duke  Czech,  who  had  conducted  the  first  expedition  of  his 
people  into  Bohemia,  had  died  long  ago,  and  his  descendants  inhe- 
rited neither  his  dignity  nor  his  principality.  The  Magnates,  to  be 
sure,  assembled  after  his  decease,  to  make  a  new  election,  but  their 
savage,  stormy  temperaments  did  not  allow  them  to  come  to  any  ra- 
tional decision.  Selfishness  and  arrogance  turned  the  first  state 


12  LIBUSSA. 

assembly  of  Bohemia  into  a  Polish  diet;*  too  many  hands  seized 
the  princely  mantle  at  once,  so  they  tore  it  to  pieces,  and  it  be- 
longed to  nobody.  The  government  fell  into  a  kind  of  anarchy ; 
every  one  did  as  he  pleased;  the  strong  oppressed  the  weak,  the 
rich  the  poor,  the  great  the  little.  There  was  no  longer  any  general 
security  in  the  country,  and  nevertheless  these  mad  caps  thought 
their  new  republic  was  admirably  constituted.  "All"  they  cried 
"  is  in  order;  every  thing  goes  its  way  with  us  as  everywhere  else; 
the  wolf  eats  the  lamb,  the  kite  eats  the  pigeon,  and  the  fox  eats 
the  fowl."  However,  this  mad  constitution  had  no  stability ;  and  after 
the  intoxication  of  visionary  freedom  was  dissipated,  and  the  people 
had  again  become  sober,  reason  once  more  asserted  her  rights,  and 
the  patriots,  the  honest  citizens,  and  all  in  fact  in  the  country,  who 
had  any  love  for  their  father-land,  took  counsel  to  destroy  the  pre- 
sent idol,  the  many-headed  hydra,  and  to  unite  the  people  again 
under  a  sovereign.  "  Let  us,"  they  said,  "  choose  a  prince  who 
shall  rule  over  us,  according  to  the  custom  of  our  fathers,  who  shall 
curb  licentiousness,  and  administer  justice  and  the  laws.  Not  the 
strongest,  the  bravest,  nor  the  richest,  but  the  wisest  shall  be  our 
duke !"  The  people  being  weary  of  the  oppressions  of  the  petty 
tyrants,  were  on  this  occasion  unanimous,  and  answered  the  propo- 
sition with  loud  applause.  A  general  assembly  was  appointed,  and 
the  choice  of  all  fell  upon  the  wise  Crocus.  A  deputation  was  sent 
to  invite  him  to  take  possession  of  his  dignity,  and  although  he  was 
not  covetous  of  the  distinguished  honour,  he  did  not  delay  to  accord 
with  the  wishes  of  the  people.  He  was  dressed  in  the  purple,  and 
he  proceeded  with  great  pomp  to  Vizegrad,  the  princely  residence, 
where  the  people  met  him  with  loud  rejoicings,  and  swore  alle- 
giance to  him  as  their  sovereign.  He  now  perceived  that  even  the 
third  slip  of  reed  offered  him  by  the  liberal  elf  had  bestowed  its 
gift  upon  him. 

His  love  of  equity  and  his  wise  legislation  extended  his  fame 
over  all  the  countries  round.  The  Sarmatian  princes,  who  used 
incessantly  to  quarrel,  brought  their  disputes  from  a  great  distance 
to  his  tribunal.  He  weighed,  with  the  infallible  weight  and  mea- 
sure of  natural  equity,  in  the  scales  of  justice,  and  when  he  opened 
his  mouth,  it  was  as  if  the  venerable  Solon  or  the  wise  Solomon, 
between  the  twelve  lions  from  his  throne,  gave  judgment  Once, 
when  some  rebels  had  conspired  against  the  peace  of  their  country, 
and  had  set  all  the  excitable  nation  of  Poles  by  the  ears,  he  marched 
to  Poland  at  the  head  of  his  army,  and  suppressed  the  civil  war. 
There  likewise  was  he  made  duke  by  a  great  part  of  the  people, 
out  of  gratitude  for  the  peace  which  he  had  given  them.  He  built 
there  the  city  of  Cracow,  which  still  bears  his  name,  and  has  the 

*  A  proverbial  expression  in  Germany  for  a  scene  of  riot,  on  account  of  the  dis- 
turbances that  usually  took  place  at  Polish  elections. 


LTBUSSA.  13 

right  oi  crowning  the  Polish  king  to  the  present  day.  Crocus 
reigned  with  great  glory  to  the  termination  of  his  life.  When  he 
perceived  that  his  end  was  approaching,  and  that  he  should  now 
leave  this  world,  he  ordered  to  be  made  of  the  remains  of  the  oak, 
which  his  wife  the  elf  had  inhabited,  a  box  to  contain  his  bones. 
He  then  departed  in  peace,  wept  over  by  his  three  daughters,  who 
laid  him  in  the  box,  and  buried  him  as  he  had  commanded,  while 
the  whole  country  mourned  his  loss. 

As  soon  as  the  funeral  pomp  had  ended,  the  states  assembled  to 
consider  who  should  now  occupy  the  vacant  throne.  The  people 
were  unanimous  for  a  daughter  of  Crocus,  only  they  could  not  agree 
which  of  the  three  sisters  should  be  chosen.  The  Lady  Bela  had 
the  fewest  adherents,  for  her  heart  was  not  good,  and  she  often  used 
her  magic  lantern  to  make  mischief.  Nevertheless  she  had  inspired 
the  people  with  such  fear,  that  no  one  ventured  to  object  to  her  for 
fear  of  rousing  her  vengeance.  When  it  came  to  the  vote,  all  the 
electors  were  silent,  there  was  no  voice  for  her  and  none  against  her. 
At  sunset  the  representatives  broke  up  the  meeting,  and  deferred, 
the  election  to  the  following  day.  Then  the  Lady  Therba  was  pro- 
posed, but  confidence  in  her  own  magic  spells  had  turned  her  head, 
she  was  proud,  supercilious,  and  wished  to  be  viewed  as  a  goddess; 
and  if  incense  was  not  always  offered  to  her,  she  was  peevish,  wilful 
and  ill-tempered,  displaying  all  those  qualities  which  deprive  the  fair 
sex  of  their  flattering  epithet.  She  was  not  so  much  feared  as  her 
elder  sister,  but  then  she  was  not  more  beloved.  For  this  reason 
the  place  of  election  was  as  still  as  a  funeral  feast,  and  there  was  no 
voting.  On  the  third  day  the  Lady  Libussa  was  proposed.  As  soon 
as  this  name  was  uttered,  a  familiar  whispering  was  heard  through- 
out the  circle,  the  solemn  faces  became  unwrinkled  and  brightened 
up,  and  every  one  of  the  electors  could  communicate  to  his  neigh- 
bour some  good  quality  of  the  lady.  One  lauded  her  unassuming 
demeanour,  another  her  modesty,  the  third  her  wisdom,  the  fourth 
the  infallibility  of  her  predictions,  the  fifth  her  disinterested  conduct 
to  all  who  asked  counsel,  the  tenth  her  chastity,  ninety  others  her 
beauty,  and  the  last  her  thriftiness.  When  a  lover  sketches  such  a 
list  of  his  mistress's  perfections,  it  is  always  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
she  really  possesses  one  of  them,  but  the  public  in  its  decisions  does 
not  easily  err  on  the  favourable  side,  though  it  often  does  on  the  un- 
favourable one.  By  reason  of  qualities  so  laudable,  and  so  universally 
recognised,  the  Lady  Libussa  was  certainly  the  most  powerful  can- 
didate for  the  throne,  as  far  as  the  hearts  of  the  electors  were  con- 
cerned; nevertheless  the  preference  of  the  younger  sisters  to  the 
elder  one  has  so  often,  as  experience  testifies,  disturbed  domestic 
peace,  that  it  was  to  be  feared,  in  a  more  important  affair,  the  peace 
of  the  country  would  be  interrupted.  This  consideration  put  the 
wise  guardians  of  the  people  to  such  great  embarrassment,  that  they 
could  not  come  to  any  decision  at  all.  An  orator  was  wanted  who 
should  attach  the  weight  of  his  eloquence  to  the  good  will  of  the 


14  LIBUSSA. 

electors,  if  the  affair  was  to  make  any  progress,  and  the  good  wishes 
of  the  electors  were  to  have  any  effect.  Such  an  orator  appeared  as 
if  called  for. 

Wladomir,  one  of  the  Bohemian  magnates,  next  in  rank  to  the 
duke,  had  long  sighed  for  the  charming  Libussa,  and  had  solicited 
her  hand  in  the  lifetime  of  her  father,  Crocus.  He  was  one  of  his 
most  faithful  vassals,  and  was  beloved  by  him  as  a  son,  and  therefore 
had  the  good  father  wished  that  love  might  unite  the  pair  together. 
The  coy  mind  of  the  maiden  was,  however,  invincible,  and  he  would 
on  no  account  force  her  affections.  Prince  Wladomir  did  not  allow 
himself  to  be  scared  by  this  doubtful  aspect  of  affairs,  and  fancied 
that  by  fidelity  and  perseverance  he  might  bear  up  against  the  lady's 
hard  disposition,  and  render  it  pliable  by  tenderness.  He  had  at- 
tached himself  to  the  duke's  train,  as  long  as  he  lived,  without  ad- 
vancing one  step  nearer  to  the  goal  of  his  wishes.  Now  he  thought 
he  had  found  an  opportunity  of  opening  her  closed  heart,  by  a  me- 
ritorious act,  and  of  gaining,  from  magnanimous  gratitude,  what, 
it  seemed,  he  could  not  obtain  by  love.  He  ventured  to  expose 
himself  to  the  hatred  and  revenge  of  the  two  dreaded  sisters, 
and  to  raise  his  beloved  to  the  throne  at  the  peril  of  his  life.  Mark- 
ing the  wavering  irresolution  of  the  assembly,  he  took  up  the  dis- 
course and  said:  "  Brave  knights  and  nobles  of  the  people,  I  will 
lay  a  simile  before  you,  from  which  you  may  learn  how  to  complete 
this  election  to  the  advantage  of  your  father-land."  Silence  having 
been  commanded,  he  proceeded  thus:  "The  bees  had  lost  their 
queen,  and  the  whole  hive  was  melancholy  and  joyless.  They  flew 
out  idly  and  sparingly,  they  had  scarcely  spirits  for  making  honey, 
and  their  pursuit  and  nourishment  was  on  the  decline.  They  there- 
fore thought  seriously  about  a  new  sovereign  who  should  preside 
over  their  affairs,  that  all  order  and  discipline  might  not  be  lost. 
The  wasp  then  came  and  said:  '  Make  me  your  queen,  I  am  strong 
and  terrible,  the  stout  horse  fears  my  sting,  I  can  defy  even  your 
hereditary  foe  the  lion,  and  prick  his  mouth  when  he  approaches 
your  honey-tree.  I  will  guard  you  and  protect  you.'  This  dis- 
course was  pleasing  enough  to  the  bees,  but  after  mature  delibera- 
tion the  wisest  among  them  said :  *  Thou  art  vigorous  and  terrible 
to  be  sure,  but  we  dread  that  very  sting  which  is  to  defend  us; 
therefore  thou  canst  not  be  our  queen.'  Then  the  humble  bee  came 
up  humming,  and  said :  '  Take  me  for  your  queen !  Do  you  not 
hear  that  the  rustle  of  my  wings  announces  rank  and  dignity  ?  Be- 
sides, I  too  have  a  sting  to  protect  you.'  The  bees  answered,  we 
are  a  peaceful  and  quiet  race ;  the  proud  noise  of  thy  wings  would 
annoy  us  and  disturb  the  pursuits  of  our  industry ;  thou  canst  not 
be  our  queen.'  Then  the  ant  desired  a  hearing :  '  Although  I  am 
larger  and  stronger  than  you,'  she  said,  '  my  superiority  can  never 
injure  you,  for  see  I  am  entirely  without  the  dangerous  sting,  I  am 
of  a  gentle  disposition,  and  besides  that,  a  friend  of  order,  of  frugality, 
know  how  to  preside  over  the  honey-tree  -and  to  encourage  labour/ 


LIBUSSA.  15 

The  bees  then  said :  *  Thou  art  worthy  to  govern  us — we  will  obey 
thee — be  thou  our  queen !' " 

Wladomir  paused.  The  whole  assembly  divined  the  purport  of 
the  discourse,  and  the  minds  of  all  were  favourably  disposed  towards 
the  Lady  Libussa.  Yet  at  the  very  moment  when  they  were  about 
to  collect  the  votes,  a  croaking  raven  flew  over  the  place  of  election ; 
this  unfavourable  omen  interrupted  all  further  deliberation,  and  the 
election  was  deferred  to  the  following  day.  The  Lady  Bela  had 
sent  the  ill-omened  bird  to  disturb  the  proceedings,  for  she  knew 
well  enough  the  inclination  of  the  voters,  and  Prince  Wladomir 
had  inspired  her  with  the  bitterest  hate.  She  held  counsel  with 
her  sister  Therba,  and  they  came  to  the  determination  that  they 
would  be  revenged  on  the  common  calumniator,  who  had  insulted 
both  of  them,  and  despatched  a  heavy  nightmare,  that  should 
squeeze  the  soul  out  of  his  body.  The  bold  knight  suspected 
nothing  of  this  danger,  but  went,  as  was  his  wont,  to  wait  upon  his 
mistress,  and  received  from  her  the  first  kind  look,  from  which  he 
promised  himself  a  whole  heaven  of  bliss.  If  any  thing  could  in- 
crease his  delight,  it  was  the  present  of  a  rose  which  adorned  the 
lady's  bosom,  and  which  she  gave  him  with  the  order  that  he  was 
to  let  it  wither  by  his  heart.  To  these  words  he  gave  an  inter- 
pretation very  different  from  that  which  was  meant,  since  no  science 
is  more  fallacious  than  the  art  of  expounding  in  love.  There 
mistakes  are  quite  at  home.  The  enamoured  knight  was  bent  on 
keeping  the  rose  fresh  and  blooming  as  long  as  possible ;  he  set  it  in 
fresh  water  in  a  flower-pot,  and  went  to  sleep  with  the  most  flatter- 
ing hopes. 

In  the  gloomy  hour  of  midnight  came  the  destroying  angel,  sent 
by  the  Lady  Bela.  He  glided  in  ;  he  blew  open,  with  his  gasping 
breath,  the  locks  and  bolts  on  the  doors  of  the  bed-room,  and  fell 
with  immense  weight  on  the  sleeping  knight,  pressing  him  down 
with  such  suffocating  force,  that  he  thought,  when  he  woke,  a 
mill-stone  had  been  rolled  upon  his  neck.  In  this  painful  situation, 
while  he  fancied  the  last  moment  of  his  life  was  come,  he  fortu- 
nately thought  of  the  rose  which  stood  in  the  flower-pot  by  his  bed, 
pressed  it  to  his  heart,  and  said:  "  Fade  away  with  me,  fair  rose, 
and  perish  on  my  lifeless  bosom,  as  a  proof  that  my  last  thought 
was  bestowed  on  thy  lovely  possessor."  At  once  his  heart  became 
lighter,  the  heavy  nightmare  could  not  resist  the  magic  power  of 
the  flower,  his  oppressive  weight  did  not  now  exceed  that  of  so 
much  down  ;  the  dislike  of  the  perfume  soon  drove  him  out  of  the 
chamber  altogether,  and  the  narcotic  quality  of  the  scent  again 
lulled  the  knight  into  a  refreshing  slumber.  At  sunrise  he  rose 
fresh  and  cheerful,  and  rode  to  the  place  of  election  to  ascertain 
what  impression  his  simile  had  made  on  the  minds  of  the  electors, 
and  to  observe  the  course  that  the  affair  might  take  this  time;  in- 
tending, at  all  events,  if  any  opposing  gale  should  arise,  and  threaten 


16  LIBUSSA. 

to  run  aground  the  wavering  boat  of  his  hopes  and  wishes,  at  once 
to  seize  on  the  helm  and  steer  directly  against  it. 

This  time,  however,  there  was  no  danger.  The  solemn  electoral 
senate  had  during  the  night  so  thoroughly  ruminated  on,  and  di- 
gested Wladomir's  parable,  that  it  was  actually  infused  into  their 
very  heart  and  mind.  A  brisk  knight,  who  perceived  these  favourable 
crises,  and  who  in  affairs  of  the  heart  sympathised  with  the  tender 
Wladomir,  endeavoured  either  to  deprive  the  latter  of  the  honour  of 
placing  the  lady  on  the  Bohemian  throne,  or  at  any  rate  to  share  it 
with  him.  He  stepped  forward,  drew  his  sword,  proclaimed  with  a 
loud  voice,  Libussa,  Duchess  of  Bohemia,  and  desired  every  one  who 
had  the  same  opinion  to  draw  the  sword  like  him  and  defend  his  choice. 
At  once  several  hundred  swords  glittered  on  the  place  of  election,  a 
loud  cry  of  joy  announced  the  new  sovereign,  and  on  all  sides  re- 
sounded the  shout  of  the  people:  "  Let  Libussa  be  our  duchess !"  A 
deputation  was  appointed,  with  Prince  Wladomir  and  the  sword- 
drawer  at  the  head  of  it,  to  announce  to  the  lady  her  elevation  to  the 
ducal  rank.  With  the  modest  blush  which  gives  to  female  charms 
the  highest  expression  of  grace,  she  accepted  the  sovereignty  over 
the  people,  and  every  heart  was  subjugated  by  the  magic  of  her 
pleasing  aspect.  The  people  paid  her  homage  with  the  greatest  delight, 
and  although  the  two  sisters  envied  her,  and  employed  their  secret 
arts  to  avenge  themselves  both  on  her  and  their  country,  for  the  slight 
that  had  been  offered  them,  endeavouring  by  the  leaven  of  calumny  and 
malicious  interpretation  of  all  their  sister's  deeds  and  actions,  to  bring 
about  in  the  nation  a  shameful  ferment,  and  to  undermine  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  her  mild  virgin  dominion ;  yet  Libussa  knew 
how  to  meet  these  unsisterly  attempts  with  prudence,  and  to  annihi- 
late all  the  hostile  plans  and  spells  of  the  unnatural  pair,  till  at  last 
they  were  tired  of  exercising  upon  her  their  inefficient  powers. 

The  sighing  Wladomir  waited  in  the  meanwhile  with  the  most 
ardent  longing  for  the  development  of  his  fate.  More  than  once  he 
ventured  to  foresee  the  end  in  the  lovely  eyes  of  his  sovereign,  but 
Libussa  had  imposed  a  deep  silence  on  the  inclinations  of  her  heart, 
and  it  is  always  a  precarious  proceeding  to  require  from  a  mistress  a 
verbal  declaration  without  a  previous  intercourse  with  the  eyes  and 
their  significant  glances.  The  one  favourable  sign  which  still  kept 
his  hopes  alive  was  the  imperishable  rose,  which,  though  a  year  had 
elapsed,  blossomed  as  freshly  now  as  on  the  evening  when  he  received 
it  from  the  hand  of  the  fair  Libussa.  A  flower  from  a  maiden's  hand, 
a  nosegay,  a  ribbon,  or  a  lock  of  hair,  is  certainly  more  valuable 
than  a  tooth  dropped  out,  but  nevertheless  all  these  pretty  things  are 
but  doubtful  pledges  of  love,  unless  some  more  certain  expressions 
gives  them  a  determined  signification.  Wladomir,  therefore  quietly 
played  the  part  of  a  sighing  swain  in  the  court  of  his  idol,  and  waited 
to  see  what  time  and  circumstances  might  produce  in  his  favour. 
The  boisterous  knight  Mizisla,  on  the  other  hand,  carried  on  his 


LIBUSSA.  17 

plan  with  far  more  spirit,  and  did  all  he  could  to  make  himself  con- 
spicuous on  every  occasion.  On  the  day  of  homage  he  was  the  first 
vassal  who  made  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  new  princess ;  he  fol- 
lowed her  as  inseparably  as  the  moon  follows  the  earth,  that  by  un- 
asked-for  services  he  might  show  his  devotion  to  her  person,  and  on 
solemn  occasions  and  in  processions  he  made  his  sword  flash  in  her 
eyes,  that  she  might  not  forget  what  good  service  it  had  done  her. 

Nevertheless,  following  the  way  of  the  world,  Libussa  seemed 
very  near  to  have  forgotten  the  furtherers  of  her  good  fortune; 
since,  when  an  obelisk  once  stands  upright,  we  think  no  more  of 
the  levers  and  instruments  that  raised  it — at  least  so  did  the  candi- 
dates for  her  heart  interpret  the  lady's  coldness.  Both,  however, 
were  wrong;  the  noble  sovereign  was  neither  insensible  nor  un- 
grateful ;  but  her  heart  was  no  more  so  completely  in  her  power, 
that  she  could  do  with  it  whatever  she  pleased.  Love  had  already 
decided  in  favour  of  the  slim  hunter.  The  first  impression  which 
the  sight  of  him  had  made  on  her  heart  was  still  so  strong,  that  no 
second  one  could  efface  it.  Three  years  had  passed,  and  the  colours 
of  imagination  with  which  the  graceful  youth  had  been  sketched, 
were  neither  rubbed  out,  nor  had  they  become  faint,  and  thus  her 
love  was  proved  to  be  perfect.  For  the  love  of  the  fair  sex  is  of 
such  a  nature  and  quality,  that  if  it  will  stand  the  test  of  three 
moons,  it  will  generally  last  three  times  three,  and  longer,  accord- 
ing to  the  evidence  and  example  of  our  own  times.  When  the 
heroic  sons  of  Germany  swam  over  distant  seas,  to  fight  out  the 
domestic  squabble  of  the  wilful  daughter  of  Britannia  with  her 
mother  country,  they  tore  themselves  from  the  arms  of  their  fair 
ones,  with  mutual  protestations  of  truth  and  fidelity;  but  before 
they  had  passed  the  last  buoy  of  the  Weser,  the  greater  part  of 
them  were  forgotten  by  their  Chloes.  The  fickle  damsels,  tired  of 
having  their  hearts  unoccupied,  filled  up  the  gap  with  new  intrigues; 
but  the  faithful  ones,  who  had  had  constancy  enough  to  endure  the 
Weser  ordeal,  and  who,  when  the  owners  of  their  hearts  were  on 
the  other  side  of  the  black  buoy,  had  been  guilty  of  no  infidelity — 
these,  they  say,  have  kept  their  vow  inviolate,  until  the  return  of 
their  heroes  into  their  German  father-land,  and  now  merit  from  the 
hands  of  love  the  reward  of  their  constancy. 

It  was  therefore  less  remaikable,  that,  under  the  circumstances,  the 
Lady  Libussa  could  refuse  the  hand  of  the  blooming  knights  who  so- 
licited her  heart,  than  that  the  fair  Queen  of  Ithaca  let  a  whole  host 
of  suitors  sigh  after  her  in  vain,  while  her  heart  had  only  the  grey- 
bearded  Ulysses  in  reserve.  Nevertheless,  rank  and  high  birth  so 
very  much  overbalanced  the  attachment  the  lady  felt  for  the  beloved 
of  her  heart,  that  any  thing  more  than  a  Platonic  passion — that  empty 
shade,  which  neither  warms  nor  nourishes — was  not  to  be  hoped. 
Although,  in  those  remote  times,  people  cared  as  little  about  writing 
out  genealogies,  according  to  parchment  and  pedigree,  as  they  did 
about  arranging  classes  of  beetles  according  to  their  wings  and  feelers, 

c 


LIBUSSA. 

or  flowers  according  to  their  stamens,  pistils,  calyx,  and  nectary,  they 
knew,  nevertheless,  that  the  delicious  grape  alone  associates  with 
the  stately  elm,  and  not  the  weed  that  creeps  along  the  hedge.  A 
mesalliance  caused  by  a  difference  of  rank  an  inch  wide,  did  not 
then,  certainly,  excite  so  much  pedantic  noise  as  in  our  classic  days; 
but,  however,  a  difference  a  yard  wide,  especially  if  rivals  stood  in 
the  interval,  and  perceived  the  distance  of  the  two  ends,  was  ob- 
servable enough.  All  this,  and  more  than  this,  the  lady  maturely 
weighed  in  her  prudent  mind,  and  therefore  she  did  not  give  a 
hearing  to  the  deceitful  prattler,  passion,  loud  as  it  might  speak  to 
the  advantage  of  the  youth,  who  was  favoured  by  love.  As  a 
chaste  vestal,  she  made  an  irrevocable  vow  that  she  would  keep  her 
heart  locked  up  in  virgin  secresy  for  the  period  of  her  life,  and 
that  she  would  not  answer  any  address  of  her  suitors,  either  with 
her  eyes  or  with  her  gestures ;  with  the  reserve,  however,  that  she 
might  platonise  as  much  as  she  pleased,  by  way  of  compensation. 
This  monastic  system  pleased  the  two  aspirants  so  little,  that  they 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  killing  coldness  of  their  sove- 
reign; jealousy,  the  companion  of  love,  whispered  into  their  ear; 
one  thought  the  other  was  his  rival,  and  their  spirit  of  observation 
was  unwearying,  in  trying  to  make  discoveries,  which  both  of  them 
dreaded.  But  the  Lady  Libussa,  with  prudence  and  acuteness, 
weighed  out  her  scanty  favours  to  the  two  honourable  knights  with 
such  an  equal  balance,  that  neither  scale  kicked  the  beam. 

Tired  of  waiting  in  vain,  both  the  knights  left  their  princess's 
court,  and  with  secret  discontent  retired  to  the  estates,  which  Duke 
Crocus  had  granted  them  for  military  service.  Both  took  home 
such  a  stock  of  ill-humour,  that  Prince  Wladomir  was  a  perfect  pest 
to  all  his  vassals  and  neighbours,  while  Prince  Mizisla  turned  sports- 
man, chasing  deer  and  foxes  over  the  fields  and  enclosures  of  his 
subjects,  and  often  treading  three  quarters  of  corn,  when  with  his 
train  he  was  following  a  hare.  This  occasioned  many  complaints  in 
the  country  ;  but,  however,  there  was  no  judge  to  remedy  the  evil, 
for  no  one  likes  to  contend  with  the  stronger,  and  hence  this  way  the 
oppression  of  the  people  never  reached  the  throne  of  the  duchess. 
Nevertheless,  through  her  supernatural  power,  no  act  of  injustice, 
within  the  wide  boundaries  of  her  realm,  remained  hidden;  and  be- 
cause her  disposition  corresponded  to  the  tender  character  of  her 
lovely  form,  she  was  afflicted  at  the  wickedness  of  her  vassals,  and  the 
wrongs  committed  by  the  strongest.  She  consulted  with  herself  as 
to  how  the  evil  could  be  remedied,  and  prudence  suggested  that  she 
should  follow  the  example  of  the  wise  gods,  who,  in  administering 
justice, never  punish  the  offender  directly  the  offence  is  committed; 
although  slowly  stepping  vengeance  is  sure,  sooner  or  later,  to  strike  at 
last.  The  young  princess  summoned  all  the  knighthood  and  states  to  a 
general  diet,  and  caused  it  to  be  publicly  proclaimed,  that  whoever 
had  a  complaint  to  make,  or  a  wrong  to  denounce,  might  come  for- 
ward freely  and  without  fear,  and  should  have  a  safe  conduct. 


LIBUSSA.  19 

Then  the  oppressed  and  harassed  came  from  all  parts  of  the  country ; 
litigious  folks  came  besides;  in  fact,  all  who  had  some  law  affair  in 
hand.  Libussa  sat  on  the  throne,  like  the  goddess  Themis,  with 
sword  and  scales,  and  uttered  justice  with  unfailing  judgment,  and 
without  respect  of  persons,  for  she  was  not  led  astray,  and  the  laby- 
rinthian  courses  of  chicane  did  not  mislead  her,  as  they  do  the  thick 
heads  of  stupid  magistrates,  while  every  body  was  surprised  at  the 
wisdom  with  which  she  unravelled  the  tangled  skein  of  law-suits  in 
affairs  of  meum  and  teum,  and  at  the  unwearied  patience  with  which 
she  found  out,  and  wound  off,  the  hidden  thread  of  justice,  without 
pulling  a  wrong  end. 

When  the  throng  of  parties  who  had  assembled  at  the  bar  of  the 
tribunal  had  gradually  diminished,  and  the  sittings  were  about  to 
terminate — on  the  very  last  court-day,  a  settler  on  the  borders  of  the 
wealthy  Wladomir's  estate,  and  a  deputation  from  the  subjects  of  the 
sporting  Mizisla,  desired  a  hearing,  that  they  might  bring  in  their 
complaint.  They  were  admitted,  and  the  settler  spoke  first.  "  An 
industrious  planter,"  said  he,  "  enclosed  a  little  piece  of  ground 
on  the  bank  of  a  broad  river,  the  silver  stream  of  which  flowed, 
gently  murmuring,  into  the  pleasant  valley  below  ;  for  he  thought 
that  the  fair  stream  would  protect  him  on  one  side  from  the  vora- 
cious animals  that  might  devour  his  crops,  and  also  water  the  roots 
of  his  fruit-trees,  that  they  might  soon  ripen  and  grow  up,  and  bear 
fruit  plentifully.  However,  just  as  his  fruit  began  to  get  ripe, 
the  deceitful  river  became  troubled,  its  quiet  waters  began  to  swell 
and  roar,  overwhelmed  the  bank,  tore  away  one  piece  of  the  fruitful 
field  after  another,  and  made  for  themselves  a  bed  in  the  middle  of 
the  cultured  soil,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  the  poor  planter,  who  was 
forced  to  give  up  his  property,  as  a  sport  for  the  malice  of  his 
powerful  neighbour,  whose  raging  flood  he  himself  escaped  with 
difficulty.  Mighty  daughter  of  the  wise  Crocus,  the  poor  planter 
entreats  thee  to  give  orders  to  the  haughty  stream,  that  it  may 
cease  to  roll  its  proud  waves  over  the  field  of  the  industrious 
husbandman,  that  it  may  no  more  thus  absorb  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
and  his  hopes  of  a  prosperous  harvest,  but  quietly  flow  within  the 
limits  of  its  own  proper  bed." 

During  this  discourse,  a  cloud  gathered  on  the  serene  brow  of 
the  fair  Libussa,  a  manly  earnestness  shone  from  her  eyes,  and  those 
around  became  all  ear,  that  they  might  hear  her  decision,  which  was 
as  follows:  "Thy  cause  is  plain  and  right;  no  violence  shall  per- 
vert its  justice.  A  firm  dam  shall  set  a  proper  limit  and  mea- 
sure to  the  wild  stream,  that  it  may  not  flow  beyond;  and  I,  with 
its  fishes,  will  make  thee  a  seven-fold  compensation  for  the  depre- 
dation of  its  waters."  She  then  made  a  sign  for  the  eldest  of 
the  deputation  to  speak;  and,  turning  his  head  to  the  court,  he 
said  thus:  "Wise  daughter  of  the  renowned  Crocus,  tell  us  to 
whom  belongs  the  seed  of  the  field — to  the  sower,  who  has  buried 
it  in  the  earth,  that  it  may  spring  up  and  multiply,  or  to  the 

c2 


20  LIBUSSA. 

hurricane  who  hurls  it  down,  and  scatters  it?" — "  To  the  sower,"  she 
replied.  "  Then,"  said  the  speaker,  "  give  orders  to  the  hurricane, 
that  it  may  not  select  our  fields  as  the  spot  for  its  wantonness, 
trample  down  our  grain,  and  shake  our  fruit-trees." — 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  duchess  ;  "  I  will  tame  the  hurricane,  and 
banish  it  from  your  fields.  It  shall  fight  with  the  clouds,  and 
scatter  them,  when  they  rise  from  the  earth,  threatening  the  land 
with  hail  and  heavy  storms." 

Prince  Wladomir  and  the  knight  Mizisla  were  both  present  at 
the  general  court.  When  they  heard  the  complaint  that  had  been 
made,  and  heard  the  solemn  sentence  of  the  princess,  they  grew 
pale,  and  smothering  their  wrath  fixed  their  eyes  upon  the  ground, 
not  daring  to  own  to  themselves  how  much  they  were  galled  at 
being  condemned  by  the  sentence  from  the  mouth  of  a  woman. 
For  although  to  shield  their  honour,  the  complainants  had  modestly 
hung  an  allegoric  veil  over  their  accusation,  and  even  the  just  de- 
cision of  the  sovereign  judge  had  shown  a  prudent  respect  for  this 
covering,  the  web  was,  notwithstanding,  so  fine  and  transparent, 
that  whoever  had  eyes  could  see  what  stood  behind  it.  As  they  did 
not  venture  to  appeal  from  the  throne  of  the  princess  to  the  people, 
the  judgment  just  given  against  them  having  caused  general  exul- 
tation, they  could  only  submit  with  it,  although  most  unwillingly. 
Wladomir  made  seven-fold  reparation  to  his  neighbour  the  settler, 
for  the  injury  that  had  been  done,  and  Nimrod  Mizisla  wras  obliged 
to  pledge  his  knightly  word  that  he  would  not  select  his  subject's 
corn  fields  as  a  place  for  hare-hunting.  At  the  same  time  Li- 
bussa  gave  them  a  glorious  employment,  that  they  might  exercise 
their  activity,  and  restore  the  tone  of  knightly  virtue  to  their 
name,  which  now  sounded  discordantly  like  a  cracked  vessel.  She 
placed  both  at  the  head  of  her  army,  which  she  sent  out  against 
Zornebock,  prince  of  the  Salians,  a  giant,  and  moreover  a  powerful 
sorcerer,  who  was  then  about  making  war  against  Bohemia,  and  im- 
posed upon  them  as  a  penance,  the  condition  that  they  should  not 
return  to  their  court,  until  one  brought  the  plume  and  the  other  the 
golden  spurs  of  the  monster  as  a  trophy  of  victory. 

The  unfading  rose  still  preserved  its  magic  power  during  this  ex- 
pedition, rendering  Prince  Wladomir  as  invulnerable  to  mortal  wea- 
pons, as  Achilles  the  hero,  and  as  nimble  and  active  as  Achilles  the 
swift-footed.  The  armies  met  on  the  northern  border  of  the  terri- 
tory, and  the  signal  to  fight  was  given.  The  Bohemian  heroes  flew 
through  the  opposing  forces  like  storm  and  whirlwind,  and  mowed 
down  the  thick  crop  of  lances,  as  the  reaper's  sickle  mows  down  a 
field  of  wheat.  Zornebock  fell  a  victim  to  their  mighty  sword-cuts; 
they  returned  back  to  Vizegrad  in  triumph  with  the  booty  they  had 
acquired,  and  the  spots  and  soils  which  had  before  tainted  their 
knightly  virtue,  they  had  washed  out  in  the  blood  of  the  enemy. 
The  Duchess  Libussa  rewarded  them  with  all  the  distinctions  of 
princely  favour,  dismissed  them,  when  the  arrny  was  disbanded  to 


LIBUSSA.  21 

their  own  residence,  and  as  a  new  mark  of  her  esteem  gave  them  a 
ruddy  apple  from  her  own  garden  for  a  keepsake,  with  the  instruc- 
tions that  they  were  to  share  it  peaceably  without  cutting  it.  They 
went  their  way,  placed  the  apple  on  a  shield,  and  had  it  carried 
before  them,  while  they  consulted  together  how  they  should  set 
about  making  division  with  proper  discretion,  so  that  they  might 
not  be  mistaken  in  their  gentle  sovereign's  meaning. 

Before  they  reached  the  cross  way  that  was  to  separate  them,  so 
that  each  might  follow  the  road  that  led  to  his  own  residence,  they 
•adhered  to  the  treaty  of  partition  amicably  enough,  but  now  the  point 
was  who  should  keep  the  apple,  to  which  they  both  had  equal  right. 
Only  one,  it  was  evident,  could  retain  it,  and  both  promised  them- 
selves such  wonders  that  each  longed  to  possess  it.  Upon  this  they 
quarrelled,  and  the  sword  nearly  had  to  decide  to  whom  the  fortune 
of  arms  had  assigned  the  indivisible  apple.  A  shepherd,  however, 
happened  to  be  driving  his  flock  along  the  same  road,  so  they  chose 
him  for  their  umpire,  and  laid  their  case  before  him,  probably  be- 
cause the  three  celebrated  goddesses  had  applied  to  a  shepherd  to 
settle  their  affair  about  an  apple.  The  man  reflected  a  little,  and  said, 

"  In  this  present  of  an  apple  lies  a  deeply  hidden  signification; 
yet  who  can  probe  it  but  the  wise  maiden  who  has  there  concealed 
it?  I  suspect  that  the  apple  is  a  deceitful  fruit,  which  grew  upon 
the  tree  of  discord,  and  the  red  skin  of  which  signifies  bloody  con- 
tentions among  you,  knights, — that  one  shall  irritate  the  other,  and 
that  neither  shall  reap  any  joy  from  the  gift.  For  tell  me  how  is 
it  possible  to  share  an  apple  without  dividing  it?"  The  two  knights 
took  to  heart  the  shepherd's  advice,  which  they  thought  contained 
great  wisdom.  "  Thou  art  right,"  said  they,  "  has  not  the  base 
apple  already  kindled  anger  and  quarrel  between  us?  Were  we  not 
on  the  point  of  fighting  for  the  deceptive  gift  of  the  proud  maiden 
who  hates  us  both  ?  Did  she  not  place  us  at  the  head  of  her  army, 
because  she  thought  we  should  be  killed  ?  And  because  that  method 
did  not  succeed,  she  now  arms  us  with  the  knife  of  discord  against 
each  other.  We  declare  ourselves  free  from  the  deceitful  gift; 
neither  of  us  shall  bear  the  apple,  but  it  shall  be  the  reward  of  thy 
honest  decision.  The  fruit  of  the  law-suit  belongs  to  the  judge,  and 
the  parings  to  the  contending  parties." 

The  knights  then  went  their  way,  while  the  shepherd  devoured 
the  subject  of  the  suit  with  that  ease,  which  is  peculiar  to  judges. 
The  duchess's  equivocal  gift  annoyed  them  greatly,  and  when  on 
returning  home,  they  found  that  they  could  not  lord  it  over  their 
vassals  and  subjects  so  arbitrarily  as  before,  but  were  forced  to  obey 
the  laws,  their  indignation  increased  still  more.  They  entered  into 
an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive,  made  for  themselves  a  faction  in 
the  country,  and  the  numerous  rebels  who  joined  them  they  de- 
spatched to  all  the  districts  around,  that  they  might  cry  down  female 
government.  "  Oh,  shame !"  cried  they,  "  that  we  are  subject  to  a 
woman  who  gathers  our  laurels  that  she  may  twine  them  round  her 


22  LIBUSSA. 

distaff.  A  man  ought  to  be  master  of  the  house,  not  a  woman, — 
that  is  man's  peculiar  right, — that  is  the  custom  among  all  people. 
What  is  an  army  without  a  duke  to  march  in  front  of  his  warriors, 
but  a  helpless  trunk  without  a  head?  Let  us  appoint  a  prince  who 
may  rule  over  us,  and  whom  we  may  obey." 

Discourses  of  this  kind  did  not  remain  concealed  from  the  vigilant 
princess.  She  knew,  besides,  whence  the  wind  came,  and  what  the 
sound  of  it  signified;  and,  therefore,  she  called  a  select  assembly  of 
the  deputies,  stepped  into  the  midst  of  them  with  the  dignity  and 
splendour  of  an  earthly  goddess,  while  her  speech  flowed  like  honey 
from  her  virgin  lips.  "  There  is  a  rumour  in  the  country,"  said  she 
to  the  assembly,  "  that  you  desire  a  duke,  who  will  lead  you  to 
battle,  and  that  you  consider  it  inglorious  to  show  further  obedience 
to  me.  Nevertheless,  from  your  own  free  and  unconfmed  desire,, 
you  chose  from  the  midst  of  you,  not  a  man,  but  one  of  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  people,  and  clothed  her  with  the  purple  that  she  might 
rule  over  you  according  to  the  usage  and  custom  of  the  country. 
Now,  whoever  can  convict  me  of  a  fault  in  my  government,  let  him 
come  forward  freely  and  openly  and  bear  witness  against  me.  If, 
however,  I  have  administered  justice  after  the  manner  of  my  father 
Crocus ;  if  I  have  made  the  hills  straight,  the  crooked  places  even, 
the  abysses  passable ;  if  I  have  secured  your  harvests,  rescued  your 
herds  from  the  wolf,  and  guarded  your  fruit-trees ;  if  I  have  bowed 
the  stiff-neck  of  the  violent,  aided  the  oppressed,  and  given  a  staff 
to  support  the  weak,  then,  I  say,  it  becomes  you  to  adhere  to  your 
promise,  and,  according  to  your  oath  of  fealty,  to  be  faithful  and  true 
to  me,  and  to  do  me  good  service.  If  you  think  it  inglorious  to 
serve  a  woman,  you  should  have  considered  that  before  you  ap- 
pointed me  to  be  your  princess.  If  there  was  any  thing  wrong  in  that 
choice,  it  reverts  to  yourselves.  However,  this  proceeding  on  your 
part  shows  that  you  do  not  understand  your  own  interest.  The 
female  hand  is  soft  and  gentle,  accustomed  to  raise  only  gentle 
breezes  with  the  fan;  but  man's  arm  is  sinewy  and  rough,  heavy 
and  oppressive,  when  he  holds  the  weight  of  authority.  Besides, 
do  you  know,  that  when  a  woman  rules,  the  sovereignty  is  still 
in  the  hand  of  man?  For  she  gives  hearing  to  wise  council- 
lors; but  when  the  distaff  excludes  from  the  throne,  there  is  female 
government;  for  the  girls,  who  please  the  king's  eyes,  have  posses- 
sion of  his  heart.  Reflect  well,  then,  on  what  you  do,  that  you 
may  not  repent  too  late  of  your  fickleness." 

The  speaker  from  the  throne  was  silent,  a  deep  reverential  silence 
prevailed  in  the  hall  of  assembly,  and  no  one  ventured  to  utter  a 
word  against  her.  Nevertheless  Prince  'Wladomir  and  his  party 
did  not  abandon  their  project,  but  whispered  among  themselves: 
"The  cunning  chamois  is  striving  not  to  leave  the  rich  pasture;  but 
the  hunter's  horn  shall  sound  still  louder,  and  scare  it  away."  The 
next  day  they  stirred  up  the  body  of  knights,  loudly  to  request  the 
queen  to  choose  a  husband  within  three  days,  and  by  the  choice  of 


LIBUSSA.  23 

her  heart  to  give  the  people  a  prince,  who  should  share  the  govern- 
ment with  her.     At  this  sudden  demand,  which  seemed  to  be  the 
voice  of  the  people,  a  virgin  blush  tinged  the  cheeks  of  the  charm- 
ing Libussa,   and  her  bright  eye  saw  all  the  rocks  beneath  the 
water,  that  threatened  her  on  this  occasion.     Even  if,  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  great  world,   she  attempted  to  bring  her  incli- 
nations  under  the  sway  of  policy,  she   could,  at  any  rate,  only 
give  her  hand  to  one  suitor,   and  then  she  saw  that  all  the  rest 
would  regard  their  rejection  as  an  insult  and  meditate  revenge. 
Besides  the  secret  vow  of  her  heart  was  to  her  sacred  and  invio- 
lable, and  therefore  she  prudently  endeavoured  to  avoid  the  press- 
ing request  of  the  deputies,  and  to  make  one  attempt  more  to  dis- 
suade them  altogether  from  having  a  duke.     "  After  the  death  of 
the  eagle,"  she  said  "  the  feathered  tribe  chose  the  wood-pigeon  for 
their  queen,    and  all  the  birds  were  obedient  to  her  soft  cooing 
voice.     Yet,  being  light  and  airy,  as  is  the  nature  of  birds,  they 
soon  altered  this  resolution,  and  began  to  repent.     The  haughty 
peacock  thought  that  he  was  more  qualified  to  rule;  the  greedy 
hawk  accustomed  to  chase  the  small  birds  considered  it  disgraceful 
to  be  subject  to  a  dove.     They  therefore  made  for  themselves  a 
faction,  and  appointed  the  purblind  owl  as  their  spokesman  to  pro- 
pose a  new  election  for  a  king.     The  dull  bustard,  the  unwieldly 
mountain-cock,  the  lazy  stork,  the  lack-brain  heron,  and   all  the 
larger  birds  chattered  and  cackled  loud  applause,  and  the  host  of 
little  birds  from  foolishness  twittered,  in  the  same  manner,  from 
hedge  and  bush.     Then  the  warlike  kite  rose  boldly  into  the  air, 
and   all  the   birds  cried  out,   '  What  a  majestic  flight !     What  a 
lightning  glance  in  those  rolling  eyes  of  fire,  what  an  expression  of 
superiority  in   the  hooked   beak,   and  the  widely-grasping  claws! 
The  bold,  hardy  kite  shall  be  our  ruler.'       Scarcely  had  the  bird  of 
prey  ascended  the  throne,  than  he  displayed  his  activity  and  strength 
to  his  fellow-subjects  with  great  tyranny  and  arrogance.      From 
the  larger  birds  he  plucked  their  feathers,  and  the  little  singing 
birds  he  tore  to  pieces." 

Plain  as  the  meaning  of  this  discourse  was,  it  made  but  little 
impression  on  the  minds  of  those  who  were  anxious  for  a  change  of 
government,  and  the  popular  decision  that  the  Lady  Libussa  should 
choose  a  husband  within  three  days,  remained  valid.  At  this 
Prince  Wladomir  much  rejoiced  in  his  heart,  for  he  now  thought 
he  should  gain  the  lovely  prize  for  which  he  had  so  long  striven  in 
vain.  Love  and  ambition  fired  his  wishes,  and  made  eloquent  his 
mouth,  which  had  hitherto  only  allowed  itself  secret  sighs.  He 
went  to  the  court  and  solicited  a  hearing  of  the  duchess.  "  Gracious 
sovereign  of  thy  people  a$d  of  my  heart,"  he  said,  "from  thee  no 
secret  is  concealed,  thou  knowest  the  flames  that  glow  in  this 
bosom,  as  purely  and  holily  as  those  upon  the  altar  of  the  gods,  and 
thou  knowest  the  celestial  fire  that  has  kindled  them.  The  time  is 
at  hand  when  thou  must  give  a  prince  to  the  land,  at  the  bidding 


24  LI  BUSS  A. 

of  thy  people.  Can'st  thou  slight  a  heart  which  only  lives  and 
beats  for  thee?  To  be  worthy  of  thee  I  have  ventured  my  life  and 
blood  in  raising  thee  to  the  throne  of  thy  father.  Let  me  have  the 
merit  of  maintaining  thee  there  by  the  tie  of  tender  love;  let  us 
share  the  possession  of  the  throne  and  of  thy  heart.  The  former 
shall  be  thine,  the  latter  mine,  and  then  will  my  happiness  be 
exalted  above  the  lot  of  mortals."  The  Lady  Libussa  deported  her- 
self in  a  very  maiden-like  manner  on  hearing  this  address,  and 
covered  her  lace  with  a  veil  that  she  might  conceal  the  gentle 
blush  that  gave  a  deeper  colour  to  her  cheek.  With  her  hand  she 
made  a  sign  for  Prince  Wladomir  to  withdraw,  without  opening 
her  mouth,  as  if  to  consider  how  she  should  answer  him  with  re- 
spect to  his  suit. 

The  bold  knight  Mizisla  then  announced  himself  and  desired  to 
be  admitted.  "  Loveliest  of  the  daughters  of  princes,"  he  said,  as 
he  entered  the  audience-chamber,  "  the  beautiful  dove,  the  queen  of 
the  realms  of  air  shall,  as  thou  knowest,  no  more  coo  alone,  but  seek 
for  herself  a  mate.  The  proud  peacock,  as  the  story  goes,  makes 
his  varied  feathers  glitter  in  her  eyes,  and  imagines  that  he  will 
dazzle  her  with  their  brilliancy,  but  she  is  modest  and  wise,  and 
will  not  unite  herself  to  the  haughty  peacock.  The  greedy  hawk, 
once  a  bird  of  prey,  has  quite  cast  off  his  nature;  he  is  good  and 
gentle,  nay  without  guile,  for  he  loves  the  fair  dove,  and  hopes  that 
she  will  espouse  him.  His  crooked  beak  and  sharp  claws  should 
not  mislead  thee.  These  he  needs  to  protect  his  beloved  dove,  that 
no  other  bird  may  injure  her  or  endeavour  to  overthrow  the  seat  of 
her  dominion,  for  he  is  faithful  and  true,  and  first  vowed  fealty  to 
her  on  the  day  of  her  elevation.  Tell  me  then,  wise  princess,  if  the 
gentle  dove  will  deign  to  bestow  on  her  faithful  hawk  the  love  to 
which  he  aspires?" 

The  Lady  Libussa  did  as  before,  made  a  sign  for  the  knight  also 
to  retire,  and  after  she  had  let  him  wait  awhile  called  in  the  two 
suitors  and  said,  "  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude,  noble  knights, 
inasmuch  as  you  both  assisted  me  in  succeeding  to  the  Bohemian 
crown,  which  my  father  Crocus  wore  with  glory.  And  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  zeal  in  my  cause,  of  which  you  remind  me.  More- 
over, it  is  not  hidden  from  me  that  you  virtuously  love  me,  for 
your  looks  and  actions  have  long  expressed  the  feelings  of  your 
hearts.  That  my  heart  has  remained  closed  to  you,  and  has  not  given 
love  for  love,  do  not  ascribe  that  to  mere  coyness;  I  did  not  mean  to 
insult  you,  but  merely  to  come  to  a  right  decision  of  a  dubious  mat- 
ter. I  weighed  your  merits,  and  the  index  of  the  balance  stood 
still.  Therefore  I  resolved  to  leave  the  decision  of  your  fate  to 
yourselves,  and  offered  you  the  possession  pf  my  heart  by  the  enig- 
matical apple,  that  I  might  see  who  had  the  greatest  share  of  wis- 
dom and  intelligence,  so  as  to  appropriate  to  himself  the  indivisible 
gift.  Now  tell  me,  without  delay,  in  whose  hand  is  the  apple. 
Whoever  has  gained  it  from  the  other,  let  him  from  this  hour  take 


LIBUSSA.  25 

my  throne  and  my  heart  for  his  prize.5'  The  two  suitors  looked 
upon  each  other  with  wonder,  grew  pale  and  were  dumb.  At  last 
Prince  Wladomir  after  a  long  pause  broke  silence  and  said,  "  The 
enigmas  of  the  wise  are  to  the  foolish,  a  nut  in  a  toothless  mouth; 
a  pearl  which  the  fowl  rakes  out  of  the  sand,  a  light  in  the  hand  of 
the  blind.  Therefore,  oh,  princess!  be  not  angry  that  we  knew 
neither  how  to  use  nor  how  to  prize  thy  gift.  Thy  design,  which 
we  did  not  know  we  misinterpreted,  and  we  thought  thou  hadst  cast 
between  us  an  apple  of  discord,  which  should  incite  us  to  feuds  and 
combat,  and  therefore  each  of  us  abandoned  participation  in  thy 
gift,  and  got  rid  of  the  fruit  of  contention,  a  sole  possession  of 
which  neither  of  us  would  have  left  to  the  other." 

"  You  have  yourself  uttered  the  judgment,"  said  the  lady;  "  if  an 
apple  was  enough  to  arouse  your  jealousy,  what  battle  would  you  have 
waged  for  a  myrtle  wreath  that  encircles  a  crown."  With  this  decision 
she  dismissed  the  knights,  who  were  greatly  annoyed  that  they  had 
listened  to  the  senseless  arbitrator,  and  had  thoughtlessly  flung  away 
the  pledge  of  love,  that  was  to  have  gained  them  the  bride.  They 
now  considered,  each  one  by  himself,  how  they  might  yet  carry  out 
their  plans,  and  by  force  or  cunning  obtain  the  Bohemian  throne 
with  its  charming  possessor. 

The  Lady  Libussa  was  not  inactive  during  the  three  days  that 
were  left  her  for  deliberation,  but  was  constantly  considering  how 
she  might  meet  the  pressing  wishes  of  her  people,  give  the  nation 
a  duke,  and  herself  a  husband,  according  to  the  choice  of  her  heart. 
She  feared  that  Prince  Wladomir  would  urge  his  pretensions  with 
force,  or  at  any  rate  deprive  her  of  the  throne.  Necessity  assisted 
love,  and  inspired  her  with  the  resolution  of  carrying  out  the  plan, 
with  which,  as  with  a  pleasant  dream,  she  had  often  amused  herself; 
for,  indeed,  what  mortal  is  there,  whose  head  is  not  haunted  by 
some  phantom  or  other,  at  which  he  grasps  in  a  vacant  hour,  that 
he  may  play  with  it  as  with  a  doll?  The  gift  of  prophecy  has 
always  been  associated  with  a  glowing  fancy ;  consequently  the  fair 
Libussa  readily  listened  at  times  to  this  pleasant  playmate,  and  the 
agreeable  confidant  always  entertained  her  with  the  image  of  the 
young  hunter,  who  had  made  so  permanent  an  impression  on  her 
heart.  A  thousand  projects  came  into  her  head,  which  her  ima- 
gination flattered  her  were  easy  and  practicable.  Now  she  had  a 
plan  of  rescuing  the  dear  youth  from  obscurity,  placing  him  in  the 
army,  and  advancing  him  from  one  post  of  honour  to  another ;  fancy 
would  then  at  once  fling  a  wreath  of  laurel  on  his  brow,  arid  lead 
him  crowned  with  victory  and  glory  to  the  throne,  which  she  shared 
with  him,  delighted.  Now  she  gave  the  romance  another  turn ;  she 
armed  her  favourite  as  a  knight-errant  out  upon  adventures,  conducted 
him  to  her  court,  turned  him  into  a  Huon  of  Bordeaux,  and  was  in 
no  want  of  wonderful  apparatus  to  endow  him  as  friend  Oberon  did 
his  protege.  But  when  cool  reflection  again  took  possession  of  her 
maiden  mind,  and  the  variegated  figures  of  the  magic  lantern  grew 


26  LIBUSSA. 

pale  at  the  "bright  ray  of  prudence,  the  lovely  dream  had  vanished. 
She  thought  how  great  would  be  the  risk  of  such  a  proceeding,  and 
what  mischief  might  befal  her  land  and  people,  if  jealousy  and  envy 
incited  against  her  the  hearts  of  the  Magnates,  and  the  alarm  of  dis- 
cord give  the  signal  for  rebellion.  She  therefore  carefully  concealed 
the  inclinations  and  wishes  of  her  heart  from  the  keen  eye  of  the 
observer,  and  allowed  nothing  to  be  perceived. 

However,  now  the  people  were  desirous  for  a  prince,  the  affair  had 
taken  another  turn,  and  she  had  only  to  make  her  own  wishes  accord 
with  those  of  the  nation.  She  fortified  her  courage  with  manly  re- 
solution, and  when  the  third  day  dawned  she  put  on  all  her  jewels, 
placing  on  her  head  the  chaste  crown  of  myrtle.  Attended  by  her 
maidens,  who  were  all  adorned  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  she  ascended 
the  throne  full  of  high  courage  and  gentle  dignity.  The  assembly  of 
knights  and  vassals  around  her  was  all  ear,  that  it  might  catch  from 
her  lovely  mouth  the  name  of  the  fortunate  prince  with  whom  she 
had  resolved  to  share  her  heart  and  throne.  "  Nobles  of  my  people," 
said  she  to  the  assembly,  "  the  lot  of  your  destiny  still  lies  untouched 
in  the  urn  of  concealment,  and  you  are  still  as  free  as  my  horses  that 
feed  in  the  meadow,  before  bridle  and  bit  have  curbed  them,  and  the 
weight  of  the  rider  and  the  burden  of  the  saddle  have  pressed  their 
slender  back.  It  now  behoves  you  to  tell  me,  whether  the  time 
which  you  have  granted  me  for  the  choice  of  a  husband  has  cooled 
the  warm  desire  of  seeing  a  prince  ruling  over  you,  and  prompted  you 
quietly  to  examine  your  project,  or  whether  you  still  adhere  un- 
changeably to  your  intention."  For  a  moment  she  was  silent,  but 
the  tumult  among  the  people,  the  noise  and  whispering  together  with 
the  gestures  of  the  assembled  senators,  did  not  leave  her  long  in  un- 
certainty, and  the  speaker  confirmed  the  ultimatum,  that  the  decision 
was  left  to  the  choice  of  her  heart.  "  Well!"  she  said,  "  the  lot  is 
cast ;  I  answer  for  nothing.  The  £ods  have  selected  for  the  kingdom 
of  Bohemia  a  prince  who  will  wield  his  sceptre  with  wisdom  and 
justice.  The  young  cedar  tree  does  not  raise  its  head  above  the 
strong  oaks ;  concealed  among  the  trees  of  the  forest  it  grows,  sur- 
rounded by  ignoble  brushwood,  but  soon  it  will  extend  its  branches 
so  as  to  shade  the  root,  and  its  crown  will  touch  the  clouds.  Nobles 
of  the  people,  select  from  among  you  a  deputation  of  twelve  honest 
men,  to  seek  the  prince  and  accompany  him  to  the  throne.  My  hoi^e 
shall  show  them  the  path,  trotting  before  you  free  and  unburdened ; 
and  as  a  sign  that  you  have  found  that  which  you  are  sent  out  to 
seek,  observe  that  the  man  whom  the  gods  have  selected  for  your 
prince,  will  at  the  time  when  you  approach  him,  be  taking  his  meal 
at  an  iron  table,  beneath  the  open  sky,  and  in  the  shadow  of  a  lonely 
tree.  To  him  must  you  pay  homage,  and  adorn  him  with  the  signs 
of  princely  dignity.  The  white  horse  will  allow  him  to  mount  his 
back,  and  bring  him  here  to  court  that  he  may  be  my  husband  and 
your  sovereign." 

She  then  dismissed  the  assembly  with  the  cheerful,  but  bashful 


LIBUSSA.  27 

mien,  which  is  customary  with  brides  when  they  expect  the  arrival 
of  the  bridegroom.  All  were  astonished  at  her  speech,  and  the  pro- 
phetic spirit  which  peered  from  it  rushed  upon  their  minds  like  an 
utterance  of  the  gods,  to  which  the  mob  blindly  attaches  belief,  and 
about  which  none  but  thinkers  indulge  in  sapient  opinions.  The 
deputation  was  appointed,  and  the  white  horse  stood  in  readiness, 
bridled  and  adorned  with  Asiatic  magnificence,  as  if  it  was  to  bear 
the  Grand  Seignior  to  the  mosque.  The  cavalcade  was  soon  in  mo- 
tion, amid  the  concourse  of  curious  people,  w^ho  were  shouting  with 
joy,  and  the  white  horse  proudly  led  the  way.  Soon,  however,  the 
train  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  the  spectators,  and  nothing  was 
to  be  seen  but  a  cloud  of  dust  rising  in  the  distance,  for  the  spirited 
horse  as  soon  as  he  came  into  the  open  country  began  to  run  as  swiftly 
as  a  British  racer,  indeed  so  swiftly,  that  the  deputation  had  a  diffi- 
culty in  following  him.  Although  the  rapid  courser  seemed  left 
entirely  to  himself,  an  invisible  power  directed  his  course,  guided 
liis  bridle,  and  spurred  his  sides.  The  Lady  Libussa  by  the  magic 
she  had  inherited  from  her  mother,  had  been  able  so  to  train  the 
horse  that  he  neither  deviated  to  the  right  or  the  left  of  his  path,  but 
with  great  speed  hurried  at  once  to  his  destination,  and  now  when 
all  seemed  arranged  so  as  to  fulfil  her  wishes,  she  awaited  with  tender 
longing  the  arrival  of  the  comer. 

The  deputies  in  the  meanwhile  had  had  a  fine  chase ;  they  had 
already  performed  a  journey  of  several  miles,  uphill  and  downhill, 
they  had  swam  through  the  Moldau  and  the  Elbe,  and  because  their 
stomachs  reminded  them  of  meal-time,  they  thought  again  of  the 
wondrous  table,  at  which  their  new  prince,  according  to  the  words  of 
the  lady,  was  to  be  seated.  On  this  subject  they  made  all  sorts  of 
remarks  and  comments.  One  inconsiderate  knight  said  to  his  fel- 
lows: "  Methinks  our  lady  duchess  has  sent  us  to  make  April  fools 
of  us,  for  who  ever  heard  of  a  man  in  Bohemia  that  dined  at  an  iron 
table.  What  do  you  lay  that  our  rash  undertaking  will  bring  us 
any  thing  besides  jeering  and  mockery?"  But  another,  who  was  more 
intelligent,  thought  that  the  iron  table  might  have  a  symbolical  mean- 
ing, and  that  they  would  perhaps  meet  with  some  knight- errant  re- 
posing under  a  tree,  after  the  fashion  of  the  wandering  brotherhood, 
and  serving  up  his  frugal  meal  on  his  brazen  shield.  A  third  said 
jestingly: 

"  I  fear  that  our  way  will  take  us  straight  down  to  the  workshop 
of  the  Cyclops,  and  that  we  shall  have  to  take  back  to  our  Venus  the 
lame  Vulcan  or  one  of  his  mates,  who  makes  a  table  of  his  anvil." 

Discussing  in  this  fashion  they  saw  their  leader,  the  white  horse, 
which  had  considerably  the  start  of  them,  trot  across  a  newly  ploughed 
field,  and,  to  their  surprise,  stop  by  a  ploughman.  They  flew  at  once 
to  the  spot,  and  found  a  peasant  sitting  on  a  plough,  which  had  been 
turned  upside  down,  beneath  the  shade  of  a  wild  pear  tree,  and  eating 
his  black  bread  from  an  iron  ploughshare,  which  he  used  as  a  table. 
He  seemed  pleased  with  the  beautiful  horse,  treated  him  kindly,  and 


28  L1BUSSA. 

offered  him  a  bit  of  his  meal,  and  which  he  eat  out  of  his  hand.  The 
ambassadors  were  very  much  astonished  at  this  sight,  but  nevertheless 
none  of  them  doubted  that  they  had  found  their  man.  They  approach- 
ed him  with  reverence,  and  the  eldest  taking  up  the  discourse  said : 

"  The  Duchess  of  Bohemia  has  sent  us  to  thee,  and  bids  us 
announce  to  thee  that  it  is  the  will  and  decree  of  the  gods  that  thou 
shalt  exchange  that  plough  for  the  throne  of  this  territory,  and  that 
goad  for  the  sceptre.  She  chooses  thee  for  her  husband,  that  with 
her  thou  mayst  rule  over  Bohemia." 

The  young  peasant  thought  they  wrere  making  game  of  him, 
which  seemed  to  him  very  mal-a-propos,  especially  as  he  thought 
they  had  fathomed  the  secret  of  his  heart,  and  were  come  to  scoff 
at  his  weakness.  He,  therefore,  answered  somewhat  haughtily,  in 
order  to  return  scorn  for  scorn : 

"  Let  us  see  whether  your  duchy  is  worthy  of  this  plough?  If  the 
prince  cannot  satisfy  his  hunger,  drink  more  merrily,  nor  sleep  more 
soundly  than  the  peasant,  it  is  certainly  not  worth  the  trouble  to 
change  this  fruitful  field  for  the  land  of  Bohemia,  or  this  smooth 
ox-goad  for  a  sceptre; — for  tell  me,  will  not  a  salt-cellar  as  well 
season  my  morsel  as  a  bushel?" 

Upon  this  one  of  the  twelve  remarked:  "  The  mole  shunning 
the  light,  grovels  for  the  worms  under  ground,  that  he  may 
support  himself,  for  he  has  not  eyes  that  can  endure  the  beam 
of  day,  nor  feet  that  are  made  to  run  like  those  of  the  swift  roe;  the 
scaly  crab  crawls  in  the  mud  of  the  lakes  and  marshes,  loves  best  to 
dwell  among  the  roots  of  the  trees  and  brushwood  on  the  river  side, 
for  he  lacks  fins  toswTim;  and  the  domestic  cock,  kept  in  the  poultry- 
yard,  does  not  venture  to  fly  over  the  low  wall,  for  he  is  too  timid 
to  trust  himself  to  his  wings,  like  the  up-soaring  kite.  Now  if  eyes 
are  given  for  seeing,  feet  for  walking,  fins  for  swimming,  and  wings 
for  flying,  thou  wilt  not  grovel  in  the  earth  like  a  mole,  hide  in  the 
marsh  like  an  unwieldy  crab,  or,  like  the  lord  of  poultry,  be  content 
to  crow  on  a  dunghill,  but  thou  wilt  come  forward  into  the  light  of 
day,  run,  swim,  or  fly  to  the  clouds,  accordingly  as  nature  has  en- 
dowed thee  with  her  gifts.  For  an  active  man  is  not  content  with 
being  what  he  is,  but  strives  to  become  what  he  can  be.  Therefore 
try  to  be  that  which  the  gods  have  appointed  thee,  and  then  thou 
wilt  be  able  to  judge  whether  or  not  the  land  of  Bohemia  is  worth  a 
field  in  exchange." 

This  serious  discourse  of  the  delegate,  in  which  nothing  of  a 
jesting  nature  was  to  be  perceived,  and  still  more  the  insignia  of 
princely  dignity — the  purple  raiment,  the  staff  of  government,  and 
the  golden  sword,  which  the  ambassadors  produced  as  vouchers 
and  testimonials  of  their  true  mission — at  last  overcame  the  mis- 
trust of  the  doubting  ploughman.  At  once  his  soul  became  en- 
lightened; and  the  transporting  thought  was  awakened  in  him,  that 
the  Lady  Libussa  had  divined  the  feelings  of  his  heart,  had  perceived 
his  constancy  and  fidelity,  by  the  aid  of  her  faculty  to  discover  what 


LIBUSSA.  29 

was  hidden,  and  had  determined  to  reward  them  in  a  manner  which 
he  would  never  have  hoped  for  even  in  a  dream.  The  gift  of  pro- 
phecy promised  to  him  by  his  oracle  came  again  into  his  mind, 
and  he  reflected  that  this  promise  must  be  accomplished  now  or 
never.  He  quickly  seized  his  hazel  staff,  set  it  deep  in  the  field, 
heaped  loose  earth  about  it,  as  one  does  when  one  plants  trees,  and 
behold,  the  staff  was  immediately  decked  with  buds,  and  shot  forth 
sprouts  and  branches  covered  with  leaves  and  flowers.  Two  of  the 
verdant  boughs  faded,  and  their  dry  foliage  became  a  sport  for  the 
winds,  but  the  third  grew  with  so  much  the  greater  strength,  and  its 
fruits  ripened.  The  spirit  of  prophecy  then  descended  on  the  rapt 
ploughman,  and,  opening  his  lips,  he  spoke  thus : 

"  Messengers  of  the  Princess  Libussa  and  of  the  Bohemian  people, 
hear  the  words  of  Premislas,  the  son  of  Mnatha,  the  honourable  knight, 
to  whom,  touched  by  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  the  clouds  of  the  future 
are  opened.  You  call  upon  the  man  who  was  guiding  his  plough 
to  take  the  management  of  your  principality  before  his  daily  work 
is  finished.  Ah,  would  that  the  plough  had  surrounded  the  field 
with  its  furrows  as  far  as  the  boundary  stone,  for  then  Bohemia 
would  have  been  an  independent  land  for  ever !  Now  that  you  have 
too  soon  disturbed  the  work  of  the  ploughman,  the  boundaries  of 
your  land  will  be  the  portion  and  inheritance  of  a  neighbour,  and 
your  remote  posterity  will  cleave  to  him  in  indissoluble  union.  The 
three  branches  of  the  verdant  staff  promise  your  princess  three  sons. 
Two  of  them  will  fade  away  as  immature  shoots,  but  the  third  will 
inherit  the  throne,  and  through  him  will  the  fruit  of  later  descend- 
ants be  ripened,  until  the  eagle  shall  fly  over  the  mountains  and 
nestle  in  the  land,  and  then  fly  away  to  return  as  unto  his  own  pos- 
session. If  then  the  son  of  the  gods*  shall  come  forth,  who  is  a 
friend  to  the  ploughman,  and  frees  him  from  his  slavish  chains — 
then  mark  him,  posterity,  for  thou  wilt  have  cause  to  bless  thy  fate. 
He,  when  he  has  trodden  under  foot  the  serpent  of  superstition,  will 
stretch  out  his  hand  towards  the  increasing  moon  to  pluck  it  from  the 
heavens,  that  he  himself  may  illumine  the  world  as  a  beneficent  star." 

The  venerable  deputations  tood  in  silent  reverence,  staring  at  the 
prophet  like  so  many  dunces ;  it  seemed  as  though  a  god  was  speak- 
ing in  him.  But  he  turned  away  from  the  deputies  to  the  com- 
panions of  his  wearisome  toil — the  two  white  oxen,  loosened  them 
from  the  yoke,  and  set  them  at  liberty,  upon  which  they  bounded 
merrily  about  the  grassy  field,  then  visibly  faded  away,  as  light 
clouds  melt  into  air,  and  finally  vanished  completely.  Premislas  now 
took  off  his  rustic  wooden  shoes,  and  went  to  wash  himself  in  the 
neighbouring  brook.  Costly  garments  were  put  on  him,  he  girded 
himself  with  the  sword  in  knightly  fashion,  and  had  the  golden 
spurs  fastened.  He  then  sprang  upon  the  white  horse  which  allowed 
him  to  mount  with  docility.  As  he  was  just  on  the  point  of  quitting 

*  An  allusion  to  the  Emperor  Joseph  II. 


30  LIBUSSA. 

the  estate  he  had  hitherto  possessed,  he  told  the  deputies  to  carry 
after  him  the  wooden  shoes,  which  he  had  now  put  off,  and  preserve 
them  as  a  testimony  that  the  humblest  of  the  people  had  once  been 
raised  to  the  highest  rank  in  Bohemia,  and  as  a  memento  that  he  and 
his  posterity  might  not  presume  upon  the  rank  he  had  acquired,  but, 
mindful  of  their  origin,  might  honour  and  protect  the  peasant  class 
from  which  they  had  sprung.  Hence  arose  the  old  custom  of  ex- 
hibiting to  the  kings  of  Bohemia  a  pair  of  shoes  on  the  day  of  their 
coronation — a  custom  which  was  observed  until  the  race  of  Premislas 
became  extinct.  The  hazel  itself,  which  had  been  planted,  grew 
and  bore  fruit,  spreading  its  roots  widely  around,  and  sending  forth 
new  shoots  until  at  last  the  whole  field  was  turned  into  a  wood  of 
hazel  trees3  which  proved  most  advantageous  to  the  neighbouring 
village  in  whose  land  this  district  was  included.  For,  in  commemo- 
ration of  this  wonderful  planting,  the  kings  of  Bohemia  granted  a 
charter  to  this  community,  that  they  should  never  be  obliged  to  con- 
tribute more  in  the  way  of  taxes  than  one  pint  of  hazel-nuts.  This 
important  privilege,  according  to  report,  their  descendants  enjoy  to 
the  present  day. 

Although  the  horse,  which  now  bore  the  bridegroom  to  his  fair 
owner,  seemed  to  outstrip  the  winds,  Premislas  made  him  sometimes 
feel  the  golden  spurs  to  accelerate  him  still  more.  The  speed  of  the 
courser,  swift  as  it  was,  did  not  appear  to  him  more  so  than  the  pace 
of  a  tortoise,  so  anxious  was  he  to  look  once  more  on  the  face  of  the 
fair  Libussa,  whose  form,  though  seven  years  had  elapsed,  still  floated 
before  him  fresh  and  charming.  He  now  looked  forward,  not  to  gaze 
vainly  upon  her,  as  upon  a  rare  anemone  in  the  varied  garden  of  a 
florist,  but  to  a  happy  union  of  victorious  love.  He  thought  only 
of  the  myrtle  crown,  which,  in  the  estimation  of  lovers,  stands  far 
above  the  crown  of  kings,  and  if  he  had  weighed  dignity  and  love 
one  against  the  other,  the  land  of  Bohemia  without  the  Lady  Li- 
bussa would  have  kicked  the  beam  like  a  clipped  ducat  in  a  money- 
changer's balance. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  when  the  new  prince  was  led  in  triumph 
into  Vizegrad.  The  Lady  Libussa  was  in  her  garden,  where  she 
had  filled  a  little  basket  with  ripe  plums,  when  the  arrival  of  her 
future  husband  was  announced.  She  approached  modestly  with  all 
the  maidens  of  her  court,  received  him  as  a  bridegroom  bestowed 
upon  her  by  the  gods,  and  concealed  the  choice  of  her  heart  by  an 
apparent  resignation  to  the  will  of  the  invisible  powers.  The  eyes 
of  all  the  court  were  directed  with  great  curiosity  towards  the  new- 
comer, but  they  saw  nothing  in  him  more  than  a  handsome  slender 
young  man.  As  for  his  external  appearance  there  were  several  cour- 
tiers who  could  vie  with  him  in  their  thoughts,  and  who  could  not 
understand  why  the  gods  had  despised  the  anti-chamber  and  had  not 
rather  selected  from  themselves  a  rosy-cheeked  champion  instead  of 
the  sun-burnt  ploughman,  as  a  husband  and  partner  in  dominion  for 
the  young  princess.  With  Prince  Wladomir  and  the  knight  Mi- 


LIBUSSA.  31 

zisla  it  was  especially  obvious  that  they  gave  up  their  claims  unwil- 
lingly. Hence  it  was  now  the  care  of  the  princess  to  justify  the 
work  of  the  gods,  and  to  declare  that  Squire  Premislas  made  amends 
for  his  deficiency  on  the  score  of  brilliant  extraction  by  his  intellect 
and  acuteness.  She  had  caused  a  noble  meal  to  be  prepared,  not  in 
the  least  inferior  to  that  with  which  the  hospitable  Queen  Dido  for- 
merly entertained  the  pious  Eneas.  After  the  cup  of  welcome  had 
passed  readily  from  mouth  to  mouth,  the  gifts  of  the  joy-bestirring 
Bacchus  had  inspired  cheerfulness  and  good  humour,  and  part  of 
the  night  had  already  past  in  jest  and  pastime,  she  suggested  a  game 
at  riddles,  and  because  the  divination  of  things  concealed  was  her 
peculiar  forte,  she  resolved  the  riddles  that  were  proposed  to  the  sa- 
tisfaction of  all  present. 

When  it  was  her  turn  to  propose,  she  called  Prince  Wladomir,  the 
Knight  Mizisla,  and  Squire  Premislas  to  her,  and  said:  "  Now,  my 
friends,  set  about  solving  a  riddle,  which  I  will  propose,  that  it  may 
be  apparent  which  is  the  wisest  and  cleverest  among  you.  I  have 
destined  for  each  of  you,  out  of  this  basket,  a  gift  of  the  plums,  which 
I  have  picked  in  my  garden.  One  of  you  shall  have  half  of  them 
and  one  more,  the  second  shall  again  have  half  and  one  more,  and  the 
third  shall  again  have  half  and  three  more.  Supposing  now  that  the 
basket  is  thus  emptied,  tell  me  how  many  plums  are  in  it  now." 

The  hasty  knight,  Mizisla,  measured  the  fruit-basket  with  his  eyes — 
not  the  sense  of  the  problem  with  his  understanding — and  said:  "That 
which  can  be  solved  by  the  sword  I  will  solve  readily,  but  thy  rid- 
dles, gracious  princess,  are  rather  too  subtle  for  me.  Nevertheless, 
in  accordance  with  thy  wishes,  I  will  make  a  venture  at  random.  I 
guess  that  if  the  plums  be  well  counted,  they  will  be  found  to 
amount  to  three  score." 

"Thou  hast  made  a  mistake,  dear  knight,"  answered  the  Lady 
Libussa.  "  If  there  were  as  many  more,  half  as  many  more,  and  a 
third  as  many  more,  as  the  basket  contains  now  and  five  more  added 
to  that,  the  number  would  by  so  much  exceed  three  score  as  it  is 
now  short  of  it." 

Prince  Wladomir  calculated  slowly  and  laboriously,  as  if  the  post 
of  general  controller  of  the  finances  were  the  reward  for  solving 
the  riddle,  and  at  last  gave  out  five-and-forty  as  the  value  of  the 
renowned  number.  The  lady  then  said : 

"  If  there  were  a  third  as  many  more,  half  as  many  more,  and  a 
sixth  as  many  more  as  there  are  now,  there  would  then  be  in  my 
basket  as  much  more  than  forty-five  as  there  now  are  under  that 
number." 

Although  the  very  commonest  hand  at  figures,  would  have  de- 
ciphered the  problem  without  trouble;  nevertheless,  for  a  bad 
calculation  the  gift  of  divination  is  absolutely  indispensable,  if 
he  would  come  off  with  honour,  and  not  appear  ridiculous.  Now 
as  this  gift  had  been  fortunately  communicated  to  the  wise  Pre- 
mislas,  it  cost  him  neither  ingenuity  nor  exertion  to  discover  the 
sloution  of  the  riddle. 


32  LIBUSSA. 

"  Intimate  associate  of  the  heavenly  powers,"  lie  said,  "  whoever 
undertakes  to  discover  thy  high-soaring  and  divine  meaning,  ven- 
tures to  fly  after  the  eagle,  when  he  hides  himself  in  the  clouds. 
Nevertheless,  I  will  follow  thy  secret  flight  as  far  as  the  eye,  which 
is  illumined  by  thee,  can  reach.  I  decide  that  the  plums  thou  hast 
concealed  in  the  basket  are  thirty  in  number, — neither  more  nor 
less." 

The  lady  looked  at  him  kindly  and  said;  "  Thou  hast  traced 
the  glimmering  spark  that  lies  deep  in  the  ashes,  and  light  gleams 
upon  thee  out  of  mist  and  darkness;  thou  hast  guessed  my  riddle." 

She  then  opened  the  basket,  counted  out  fifteen  plums  into  Prince 
Wladomir's  hat  with  one  more,  and  there  remained  fourteen.  Of 
these  she  gave  seven  to  the  Knight  Mizisla  with  one  more,  and  six  re- 
mained in  the  basket.  The  half  of  these  she  awarded  to  the  wise  Prem- 
islas,  then  gave  him  the  three  others,  and  the  basket  was  empty.  The 
whole  court  was  amazed  at  the  arithmetical  wisdom  of  the  fair  Libussa, 
and  the  acuteness  of  her  clever  bridegroom.  No  one  could  compre- 
hend how  human  intellect  was  able  on  the  one  hand  to  bind  a  com- 
mon number  so  enigmatically  in  words,  and  on  the  other  to  pick 
out  such  an  ingenious  mystery  with  such  perfect  confidence.  The 
lady  awarded  the  empty  basket  to  the  two  knights,  who  could  not 
obtain  her  love,  as  a  memorial  of  a  terminated  amour.  Hence 
arises  the  custom,  which  exists  to  the  present  time,  of  saying  that  a 
rejected  lover  has  received  a  basket  from  his  mistress.* 

When  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  homage,  and  the  nuptials, 
both  these  ceremonies  were  celebrated  with  great  pomp.  The  Bo- 
hemian people  had  now  a  duke,  and  the  fair  Libussa  a  husband, 
both  to  their  heart's  content,  and  what  was  most  surprising  this 
result  was  brought  about  by  trickery,  which  does  not  generally  bear 
the  reputation  of  being  the  most  skilful  negotiator.  If  one  of  the 
two  parties  had  been  deceived,  certainly  it  was  not  the  sage  Libussa, 
but  the  people,  as  indeed  is  frequently  the  case.  The  land  of  Bo- 
hemia had  nominally  a  duke,  but  in  point  of  fact  the  government 
remained  in  a  female  hand  as  before.  Premislas  was  a  perfect  pat- 
tern of  a  docile  obedient  husband,  who  did  not  dispute  the  rule  of 
his  wife,  either  in  the  household  or  the  state.  His  thoughts  and 
wishes  sympathised  as  perfectly  with  her  own,  as  two  similarly 
tuned  strings,  of  which  the  untouched  one  spontaneously  repeats 
the  sound,  which  the  louder  one  has  uttered.  Libussa  had  not, 
however,  the  proud,  vain  disposition  of  those  ladies  wljo  wish  to  pass 
for  great  matches,  and  are  always  superciliously  reminding  the  poor 
wight,  whose  fortune  they  think  they  have  made,  of  his  wooden 
shoes ;  but  she  imitated  the  celebrated  Queen  of  Palmyra,  and  go- 
verned by  the  superiority  of  her  talents,  as  Zenobia  managed  her  good- 
natured  Odenatus. 

The  happy  pair  lived  in  the  enjoyment  of  unchanging  love,  ac- 

*  The  expression  "  Einen  Korb  bekommen,"  to  meet  with  a  refusal,  is  familiar  to 
every  reader  of  German. 


LIBUSSA.  33 

cording  to  the  fashion  of  that  time,  when  the  instinct  which  unites 
hearts  was  as  firm  and  durable  as  the  cement  and  mortar  which 
renders  the  walls  of  the  old  world  so  firm  and  indestructible.  Duke 
Premislas  now  became  one  of  the  most  doughty  knights  of  his  age, 
and  the  Bohemian  court  one  of  the  most  brilliant  in  Germany.  A 
large  number  of  knights  and  nobles,  as  well  as  a  great  concourse  of 
common  people  gradually  assembled  from  all  parts  of  the  territory. 
The  consequence  was,  that  the  court-city  became  too  narrow  for  the 
inhabitants,  and  therefore  Libussa  called  her  people  in  office  to  her, 
and  ordered  them  to  build  a  city  on  the  spot  where  they  should  find 
a  man  who  knew  how  to  make  the  wisest  use  of  teeth  at  noon.  They 
went  out  and  found  at  the  appointed  time  a  man  who  was  busied  in 
sawing  a  block  asunder.  They  decided  that  this  industrious  person 
made  an  incomparably  better  use  of  the  teeth  of  his  saw  at  noon  than 
the  parasite  made  of  the  teeth  in  his  jaws  at  the  table  of  the  great, 
and  they  did  not  doubt  that  they  had  found  the  place  which  the 
princess  had  appointed  for  the  foundation  of  the  new  city.  They 
therefore  drew  the  ploughshare  round  the  field  to  mark  the  compass 
of  the  city  wall.  On  asking  the  working  man  what  he  intended  to 
make  out  of  the  piece  of  wood  he  was  cutting,  he  answered:  "  Prah," 
which  in  the  Bohemian  tongue  signifies  the  threshold  of  a  door. 
Libussa  therefore  called  the  new  city  Praha,  that  is  Prague,  the  well- 
known  royal  city  on  the  Moldau  in  Bohemia.  The  prediction  of 
Premislas  concerning  his  posterity  was  punctually  fulfilled.  His  wife 
became  mother  of  three  princes,  two  of  whom  died  in  their  youth, 
while  the  third  grew  to  man's  estate,  and  from  him  sprung  a  brilliant 
race  of  kings,  who  flourished  on  the  Bohemian  throne  for  ages. 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

BY  FRIEDRICH  SCHILLER. 

IN  tlie  whole  history  of  man  there  is  no  chapter  more  instructive  for 
the  heart  and  mind  than  the  annals  of  his  errors.  On  the  occasion  of 
every  great  crime  a  proportionally  great  force  was  in  motion.  If  by  the 
pale  light  of  ordinary  emotions  the  play  of  the  desiring  faculty  is  con- 
cealed, in  the  situation  of  strong  passion  it  becomes  the  more  striking, 
the  more  colossal,  the  more  audible,  and  the  acute  investigator  of 
humanity,  who  knows  how  much  may  be  properly  set  down  to  the 
account  of  the  mechanism  of  the  ordinary  freedom  of  the  will,  and 
how  far  it  is  allowable  to  reason  by  analogy,  will  be  able  from  this 
source  to  gather  much  fresh  experience  for  his  psychology,  and  to 
render  it  applicable  to  moral  life. 

The  human  heart  is  something  so  uniform  and  at  the  same  time  so 
compound !  One  and  the  same  faculty  or  desire  may  play  in  a  thou- 
sand forms  and  directions,  may  produce  a  thousand  contradictory 
phenomena,  may  appear  differently  mingled  in  a  thousand  charac- 
ters, and  a  thousand  dissimilar  characters  and  actions  might  be  spun 
out  of  one  kind  of  inclination,  though  the  particular  man,  about 
whom  the  question  was  raised,  might  have  no  suspicion  of  such  affi- 
nity. If,  as  for  the  other  kingdoms  of  nature,  a  Linnaeus  for  the 
human  race  were  to  arise,  who  could  classify  according  to  inclinations 
and  impulses,  how  great  would  be  the  empire,  when  many  a  person 
whose  vices  are  now  stifled  in  a  narrow  social  sphere,  and  in  the  close 
confines  of  the  law,  was  found  in  the  same  order  with  the  monster 
Borgia. 

Considered  from  this  point  of  view,  the  usual  mode  of  treating 
history  is  open  to  much  objection,  and  herein,  I  think,  lies  the  diffi- 
culty, owing  to  which  the  study  of  history  has  always  been  so  un- 
fruitful for  civil  life.  Between  the  vehement  emotions  of  the  man  in 
action,  and  the  quiet  mind  of  the  reader,  to  whom  the  action  is  pre- 
sented, there  is  such  a  repelling  contrast,  such  a  wide  interval,  that 
it  is  difficult,  nay,  impossible  for  the  latter,  even  to  suspect  a  con- 
nexion. A  gap  remains  between  the  subject  of  the  history  and  the 
reader  which  cuts  off  all  possibility  of  comparison  or  application, 
and  which,  instead  of  awakening  that  wholesome  alarm,  that  warns 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  35 

too  secure  health,  merely  calls  forth  the  shake  of  the  head  denoting 
suspicion.  We  regard  the  unhappy  person,  who  was  still  a  man  as 
much  as  ourselves,  both  when  he  committed  the  act  and  when  he 
atoned  for  it,  as  a  creature  of  another  species,  whose  blood  flows 
differently  from  our  own,  and  whose  will  does  not  obey  the  same 
regulations  as  our  own.  His  fate  teaches  us  but  little,  as  sympathy 
is  only  founded  on  an  obscure  consciousness  of  similar  peril,  and  we 
are  far  removed  even  from  the  bare  suspicion  of  such  similarity. 
The  relation  being  lost,  instruction  is  lost  with  it,  and  history,  in- 
stead of  being  a  school  of  cultivation,  must  rest  content  with  the 
humble  merit  of  having  satisfied  our  curiosity.  If  it  is  to  become  any 
thing  more  and  attain  its  great  purpose,  it  must  choose  one  of  these 
two  plans:  either  the  reader  must  become  as  warm  as  the  hero,  or 
the  hero  must  become  as  cold  as  the  reader. 

I  am  aware  that  many  of  the  best  historians,  both  of  ancient  and 
modern  times,  have  adhered  to  the  first  method,  and  have  gained 
the  heart  of  their  reader,  by  a  style  which  carries  him  along  with 
the  subject.  But  this  is  an  usurpation  on  the  part  of  the  author, 
and  an  infringement  on  the  republican  freedom  of  the  reading 
public,  which  is  itself  entitled  to  sit  in  judgment:  it  is  at  the  same 
time  a  violation  of  the  law  of  boundaries,  since  this  method  belongs 
exclusively  and  properly  to  the  orator  and  the  poet.  The  last  me- 
thod is  alone  open  to  the  historian. 

The  hero  then  must  be  as  cold  as  the  reader  or — what  comes  to 
the  same  thing — we  must  become  acquainted  with  him  before  he 
begins  to  act;  we  must  see  him  not  only  perform,  but  will  his 
action.  His  thoughts  concern  us  infinitely  more  than  his  deeds, 
and  the  sources  of  his  thoughts  still  more  than  the  consequences  of 
his  deeds.  The  soil  of  Vesuvius  has  been  explored  to  discover  the 
origin  of  its  eruption ;  and  why  is  less  attention  paid  to  a  moral  than 
to  a  physical  phenomenon?  Why  do  we  not  equally  regard  the 
nature  and  situation  of  the  things  which  surround  a  certain  man, 
until  the  tinder  collected  within  him  takes  fire?  The  dreamer,  who 
loves  the  wonderful  is  charmed  by  the  singularity  and  wonder  of 
such  a  phenomenon;  but  the  friend  of  truth  seeks  a  mother  for 
these  lost  children.  He  seeks  her  in  the  unalterable  structure  of 
the  human  soul,  and  in  the  variable  conditions  by  which  it  is  in- 
fluenced from  without,  and  by  searching  both  these  he  is  sure  to 
find  her.  He  is  now  no  more  astonished  to  see  the  poisonous  hem- 
lock thriving  in  that  bed,  in  every  other  part  of  which  wholesome 
herbs  are  growing,  to  find  wisdom  and  folly,  virtue  and  vice,  to- 
gether in  the  same  cradle. 

Not  to  mention  any  of  the  advantages  which  psychology  derives 
from  such  a  method  of  treating  history,  this  method  has  alone  the 
preference,  because  it  uproots  the  cruel  scorn  and  proud  security 
with  which  erect  and  untempted  virtue  commonly  looks  down  upon 
the  fallen,  because  it  diffuses  the  mild  spirit  of  toleration,  without 
which  no  fugitive  can  return,  no  reconciliation  between  the  law  and 

D  2 


36  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

its  offender  is  possible,  no  infected  member  of  society  can  escape 
utter  mortification. 

Had  the  criminal  of  whom  I  am  now  about  to  speak  a  right  to 
appeal  to  that  spirit  of  toleration?  Was  he  really  lost  for  the  body 
of  the  state,  without  a  possibility  of  redemption?  I  will  not  anti- 
cipate the  reader's  verdict.  Our  leniency  will  no  more  avail  him, 
since  he  perished  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner,  but  the  dis- 
section of  his  crime  will  perhaps  instruct  humanity,  and  possibly  in- 
struct justice  also. 

Christian  Wolf  was  the  son  of  an  innkeeper  in  a  provincial  town 
(the  name  of  which  must  be  concealed  for  reasons  which  will  be 
obvious  in  the  sequel),  and,  his  father  being  dead,  he  assisted  his 
mother  in  the  business  till  his  twentieth  year.  The  business  was 
bad,  and  Wolf  had  many  an  idle  hour.  Even  from  his  school  days 
he  was  notorious  as  a  loose  kind  of  fellow.  Grown  up  girls  com- 
plained of  his  audacity,  and  the  lads  of  the  town  reverenced  his 
inventive  powers.  Nature  had  neglected  his  person.  A  little  insig- 
nificant figure,  curly  hair  of  an  unpleasant  blackness,  a  flat  nose, 
and  a  swollen  upper  lip,  which  had  been  moreover  put  out  of  its 
place  by  the  kick  of  a  horse,  gave  a  repulsiveness  to  his  appearance, 
which  scared  all  the  women  away  from  him,  and  afforded  abundant 
material  for  the  wit  of  his  comrades. 

Obstinately  did  he  endeavour  to  gain  what  had  been  denied  him ; 
because  he  was  unpleasant  he  determined  to  please.  He  was  sensual, 
and  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  in  love.  The  girl  whom  he  chose 
ill-treated  him;  he  had  reason  to  fear  his  rivals  were  more  for- 
tunate ;  nevertheless  the  girl  was  poor.  A  heart  that  was  closed  to 
his  endearments  might  possibly  open  to  his  presents,  but  he  himself 
was  oppressed  by  want,  and  his  vain  endeavour  to  produce  an 
effective  exterior  absorbed  the  small  gains  of  his  miserable  business. 
Too  indolent  and  too  ignorant  to  restore  his  dilapidated  affairs  by 
speculation,  too  proud,  and  also  too  delicate  to  exchange  the  con- 
dition of  master  which  he  had  hitherto  held,  for  that  of  peasant, 
he  saw  but  one  path  before  him— a  path  which  thousands  before 
and  after  him  have  taken  with  better  success — that  of  stealing 
honestly.  His  native  town  bordered  on  a  wood,  which  belonged 
to  the  sovereign;  he  turned  poacher,  and  the  profits  of  his  depre- 
dations were  faithfully  placed  in  the  hands  of  his  mistress. 

Among  the  lovers  of  Johanna  was  Robert,  a  huntsman  in  the 
service  of  the  forester.  This  man  soon  perceived  the  advantage 
which  had  been  gained  over  him  by  the  liberality  of  his  rival,  and 
filled  with  envy,  he  investigated  the  source  of  this  change.  He 
appeared  more  frequently  at  the  Sun — this  was  the  sign  of  the  inn — 
and  his  watchful  eye,  sharpened  by  envy  and  jealousy,  soon  showed 
him  whence  the  money  had  been  procured.  A  short  time  before,  a 
severe  edict  had  been  revived  against  poachers,  condemning  trans- 
gressors to  the  house  of  correction.  Robert  was  unwearied  in  ob- 
serving the  secret  paths  of  his  rival,  and  finally  succeeded  in  catch- 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  37 

the  unwary  man  in  the  very  fact.  Wolf  was  apprehended, 
and  it  was  only  by  the  sacrifice  of  all  his  property,  that  he  was 
able — and  then  with  difficulty — to  escape  the  awarded  punishment 
by  a  fine. 

Robert  triumphed.  His  rival  was  beaten  out  of  the  field,  and 
Johanna's  favour  was  at  an  end,  now  he  was  a  beggar.  Wolf 
knew  his  enemy,  and  this  enemy  was  the  happy  possessor  of  Jo- 
hanna. An  oppressive  feeling  of  want  was  combined  with  offended 
pride,  necessity  and  jealousy  raged  together  against  his  sensitive- 
ness, hunger  drove  him  out  upon  the  wide  world,  revenge  and 
passion  held  him  fast.  For  a  second  time  he  turned  poacher,  but 
Robert's  redoubled  vigilance  was  again  too  much  for  him.  Now 
he  experienced  all  the  severity  of  the  law,  for  he  had  nothing  more 
to  give,  and  in  a  few  wreeks  he  was  consigned  to  the  house  of 
correction  attached  to  the  capital. 

This  year  of  punishment  had  passed,  absence  had  increased  his 
passion,  and  his  stubbornness  had  become  greater  under  the  weight 
of  his  misfortune.  Scarcely  had  he  regained  his  freedom  than  he 
hastened  to  the  place  of  his  birth  to  show  himself  to  his  Johanna. 
He  appeared,  and  all  shunned  him.  Pressing  necessity  at  last  sub- 
dued his  pride,  and  overcame  his  sense  of  personal  weakness, — he 
offered  himself  to  the  opulent  of  the  place,  as  willing  to  serve  for 
daily  hire.  The  farmer  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  saw  the  weakly 
looking  creature,  and  the  stout  bony  frame  of  a  rival  applicant  was 
decisive  against  him  in  the  mind  of  the  unfeeling  patron.  He 
made  one  effort  more.  One  office  was  still  left — the  very  last 
post  of  an  honest  name.  He  applied  for  the  vacant  place  of 
herdsman  of  the  town,  but  the  peasant  would  not  trust  his  pigs 
to  a  scape-grace.  Frustrated  in  every  effort,  rejected  at  every 
place,  he  became  a  poacher  for  the  third  time,  and  for  a  third 
time  had  the  misfortune  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  his  watchful 
enemy. 

The  double  relapse  had  increased  the  magnitude  of  the  offence. 
The  judges  looked  into  the  book  of  laws,  but  not  into  the  cri- 
minal's state  of  mind.  The  decree  against  poachers  required  a 
solemn  and  exemplary  satisfaction;  and  Wolf  was  condemned  to 
work  for  three  years  in  the  fortification,  with  the  mark  of  the 
gallows  branded  on  his  back. 

This  period  also  had  elapsed,  and  he  quitted  the  fortification, 
a  very  different  man  from  the  man  he  was  when  he  entered  it. 
Here  began  a  new  epoch  in  his  life.  Let  us  hear  him  speak  him- 
self, as  he  afterwards  confessed  to  his  spiritual  adviser,  and  before 
the  court.  "I  entered  the  fortification,"  he  said,  "as  an  erring 
man,  and  I  left  it — a  villain.  I  had  still  possessed  something  in 
the  world  which  was  dear  to  me,  and  my  pride  had  bowed  down 
under  shame.  When  I  was  brought  to  the  fortification,  I  was  con- 
fined with  three  and  twenty  prisoners,  two  of  whom  were  mur- 
derers, while  all  the  rest  were  notorious  thieves  and  vagabonds. 


38  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

They  scoffed  at  me.  when  I  spoke  of  God,  and  encouraged  me 
to  utter  all  sorts  of  blasphemies  against  the  Redeemer.  Obscene 
songs  were  sung  in  my  presence,  which,  graceless  fellow  as  I  was, 
I  could  not  hear  without  disgust  and  horror;  and  what  I  saw 
done,  was  still  more  revolting  to  my  sense  of  decency.  There  was 
not  a  day  in  which  some  career  of  shame  was  not  repeated,  in 
which  some  evil  project  was  not  hatched.  At  first  I  shunned 
these  people,  and  avoided  their  discourse  as  much  as  possible;  but 
I  wanted  the  sympathy  of  some  fellow  creature,  and  the  barbarity 
of  my  keepers  had  even  denied  me  my  dog.  The  labour  was 
hard  and  oppressive,  my  body  weak;  I  wanted  assistance,  and,  if 
I  must  speak  out,  I  wanted  compassion  also,  and  this  I  was  forced 
to  purchase  with  the  last  remains  of  my  conscience.  Thus  did  I 
ultimately  become  inured  to  what  was  most  detestable,  and  in  the 
quarter  of  the  year  I  had  surpassed  my  instructors. 

"  I  now  thirsted  after  the  day  of  liberty,  as  I  thirsted  after  re- 
venge. All  men  had  offended  me,  for  all  were  better  and  happier 
than  me.  I  considered  myself  the  martyr  of  natural  rights,  the  vic- 
tim of  the  law.  Grinding  my  teeth,  I  rubbed  my  chains,  when  the 
sun  rose  behind  the  mountain  on  which  the  fortification  stood; — a 
wide  prospect  is  a  two-fold  hell  for  a  prisoner.  The  free  breeze  that 
whistled  through  the  loop-holes  of  my  tower,  the  swallow  that 
perched  on  the  iron  bar  of  my  grating,  seemed  to  insult  me  with 
their  liberty,  and  made  my  confinement  the  more  hideous.  Then  I 
swore  a  fierce,  unconquerable  hate  against  all  that  resembles  man, 
and  faithfully  have  I  kept  my  oath. 

"  My  first  thought,  as  soon  as  I  was  free,  was  my  native  town. 
Little  as  I  had  to  hope  there  for  my  future  support,  much  was  pro- 
mised to  my  hunger  for  revenge.  My  heart  beat  more  wildly  as  I 
saw  the  church-steeple  rise  in  the  distance  from  the  wood.  It  was 
no  more  that  heartfelt  comfort,  which  I  felt,  when  first  I  returned 
thither.  The  remembrance  of  all  the  afflictions,  all  the  perse- 
cutions which  I  had  suffered  then  roused  me  at  once  from  a 
frightful  torpor;  every  wound  bled  afresh,  every  scar  was  opened. 
I  quickened  my  steps,  for  I  walked  in  the  thought  of  terrifying 
my  enemy  by  my  sudden  appearance,  and  I  now  thirsted  as  much 
after  new  humiliation  as  I  had  before  trembled  at  it. 

"  The  bells  were  ringing  for  vespers,  while  I  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  market.  The  congregation  was  thronging  to  church.  I  was 
now  recognised,  and  every  one  who  came  near  me  shyly  shrank 
back.  I  was  always  very  fond  of  little  children,  and  even  now,  by 
an  involuntary  impulse,  I  gave  a  groschen  to  a  boy  who  was  skip- 
ping by  me.  The  boy  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  then  flung 
the  groschen  into  my  face.  Had  my  blood  been  cooler  I  should 
have  remembered  that  the  beard,  which  I  had  brought  with  me 
from  the  fortification,  disfigured  my  face  in  the  most  frightful  man- 
ner, but  my  bad  heart  had  infected  my  reason.  Tears,  such  as  I 
had  never  shed,  ran  down  my  cheeks. 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  39 

"  '  The  boy  does  not  know  who  I  am,  nor  whence  I  come,'  I  now 
said  to  myself,  half  aloud,  '  and  yet  he  shuns  me  like  some  noxious 
beast.  Have  I  any  mark  on  my  forehead,  or  have  I  ceased  to  look 
like  a  man  because  I  can  no  longer  love  one  ?'  The  contempt  of  this 
boy  wounded  me  more  bitterly  than  three  years'  service  in  the 
galleys,  for  I  had  done  him  a  kindness,  and  could  not  charge  him 
•with  personal  hatred. 

"I  sat  down  in  a  timber-yard  opposite  the  church.  What  I 
actually  desired  I  do  not  know,  but  this  I  know,  that  I  rose  with 
indignation;  when,  of  all  my  acquaintance  that  passed,  not  one 
would  give  me  a  greeting.  Deeply  offended,  I  left  the  spot  to 
seek  a  lodging,  when  just  as  I  was  turning  the  corner  of  a  street 
I  ran  against  my  Johanna.  l  The  host  of  the  Sun !'  she  cried  aloud, 
and  made  a  movement  to  embrace  me.  *  Thou  returned,  dear  host 
of  the  Sun — God  be  praised  !'  Her  attire  bespoke  misery  and  hun- 
ger, her  aspect  denoted  the  abandoned  condition  to  which  she  had 
sunk.  I  quickly  surmised  what  had  happened;  some  of  the  prince's 
dragoons  who  had  met  me,  made  me  guess  that  there  was  a  gar- 
rison in  the  town.  '  Soldier's  wench !'  cried  I,  and  laughing,  I 
turned  my  back  upon  her.  I  felt  comforted  that  in  the  rank  of 
living  beings  there  was  still  one  creature  below  me.  I  had  never 
loved  her. 

"  My  mother  was  dead,  my  creditors  had  paid  themselves  with 
my  small  house.  I  had  lost  every  body  and  every  thing.  All  the 
world  shunned  me  as  though  I  were  venomous,  but  I  had  at  last 
forgotten  shame.  Before,  I  had  retired  from  the  sight  of  men  be- 
cause contempt  was  unendurable.  Now  I  obtruded  myself  upon 
them,  and  felt  delight  in  scaring  them.  I  was  easy  because  I  had 
nothing  more  to  lose,  and  nothing  more  to  guard.  I  no  more 
needed  any  good  quality,  because  none  believed  I  could  have  any. 

"  The  whole  world  lay  open  before  me,  and  in  some  strange  pro- 
vince I  might  have  passed  for  an  honest  man,  but  I  had  lost  the 
spirit  even  to  appear  one.  Despair  and  shame  had  at  last  forced 
this  mood  upon  me.  It  was  the  last  refuge  that  was  left  me,  to 
learn  to  do  without  honour,  because  I  had  no  longer  a  claim  to  it. 
Had  my  pride  and  vanity  survived  my  degradation,  I  must  have 
destroyed  myself. 

"  What  I  had  actually  resolved  upon  was  yet  unknown  even  to 
myself.  I  had  to  be  sure  a  dark  remembrance  that  I  wished  to  do 
something  bad.  I  wished  to  merit  my  fate.  The  laws,  I  thought, 
were  beneficial  to  the  world,  and  therefore  I  embraced  the  deter- 
mination of  violating  them.  Formerly  I  had  sinned  from  neces- 
sity and  levity,  now  it  was  from  free  choice,  and  for  my  own  plea- 
sure. 

"  My  first  plan  was  to  continue  my  poaching.  Hunting  alto- 
gether had  gradually  become  a  passion  with  me,  and  besides  I  was 
forced  to  live  some  way.  But  this  was  not  all ;  I  was  tickled  at  the 
thought  of  scorning  the  princely  edict,  and  of  injuring  my  sove- 


40  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

reign  to  the  utmost  of  my  power.  I  no  more  feared  apprehension, 
for  I  had  a  bullet  ready  for  my  discoverer,  and  I  knew  that  I 
should  not  miss  my  man.  I  killed  all  the  game  that  came  across 
me,  a  small  quantity  of  which  I  sold  on  the  border,  but  the  greater 
part  I  left  to  rot.  I  lived  miserably,  that  I  might  be  able  to  afford 
powder  and  ball.  My  devastations  in  the  great  hunt  were  noto- 
rious, but  suspicion  no  longer  touched  me.  My  aspect  dissipated  it : 
my  name  was  forgotten. 

"  This  kind  of  life  lasted  for  several  months.  One  morning  I  had, 
as  usual  rambled  through  the  wood,  to  follow  the  track  of  a  deer.  I 
had  wearied  myself  for  two  hours  in  vain,  and  was  already  beginning 
to  give  up  my  prey  as  lost,  when  I  suddenly  discovered  it  within 
gun-shot.  I  was  about  to  take  aim  and  fire,  when  I  was  suddenly 
startled  by  the  appearance  of  a  hat  which  lay  on  the  ground  a  few 
paces  before  me.  I  looked  closer,  and  discovered  the  huntsman 
Robert,  who  from  behind  the  thick  trunk  of  an  oak  tree  was  levelling 
his  gun  at  the  very  animal  which  I  had  designed  to  shoot.  At  this 
sight  a  deadly  coldness  passed  through  my  bones.  Here  was  the 
man  whom  I  detested  more  than  any  living  thing,  and  this  man 
within  reach  of  my  bullet.  At  the  moment  I  felt  as  if  the  whole 
world  depended  on  the  firing  of  my  gun,  and  the  hatred  of  my 
whole  life  seemed  concentrated  in  the  tip  of  the  finger  that  was  to 
give  the  fatal  pressure  to  the  trigger.  An  invisible  fatal  hand  was 
suspended  over  me,  the  index  of  my  destiny  pointed  irrevocably  to 
this  black  minute.  My  arm  trembled,  when  I  allowed  my  gun  the 
fatal  choice,  my  teeth  chattered  as  in  an  ague  fit,  and  my  breath, 
with  a  suffocating  sensation,  was  confined  in  my  lungs.  For  the 
duration  of  one  minute  did  the  barrel  of  the  gun  waver  uncertainly 
between  the  man  and  the  deer,  one  minute — and  one  more — and  yet 
one  more.  It  was  a  doubtful  and  obstinate  contest  between  revenge 
and  conscience,  but  revenge  gained  the  victory,  and  the  huntsman 
lay  dead  on  the  ground. 

"  My  gun  fell  as  it  had  been  fired.  '  Murderer,'  I  stammered  out 
slowly — the  wood  was  as  silent  as  a  churchyard,  and  I  could  hear 
plainly  that  I  said  '  murderer.'  When  I  drew  nearer,  the  man  had 
died.  Long  did  I  stand  speechless  before  the  corse,  when  a  shrill 
burst  of  laughter  came  as  a  relief.  '  Will  you  keep  counsel  now, 
friend?'  said  I,  and  boldly  stepping  up  to  the  murdered  man,  I 
turned  round  his  face  towards  myself.  His  eyes  were  wide  open. 
I  was  serious,  and  again  became  suddenly  still.  An  extraordinary 
feeling  took  possession  of  me. 

"  Hitherto  I  had  sinned  on  account  of  my  disgrace,  but  now  some- 
thing had  happened  for  which  I  had  not  yet  atoned.  An  hour  before, 
I  think,  no  man  could  have  persuaded  me  that  there  was  any  thing 
under  heaven  worse  than  myself,  whereas,  now  I  began  to  suspect 
that  my  condition  an  hour  before  was,  perhaps,  an  enviable  one. 

"  God's  judgments  did  not  occur  to  me, — but  I  had  a  dim  recol- 
lection of  sword  and  cord,  and  the  execution  of  an  infanticide  which 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  41 

I  saw  while  a  school-boy.  There  was  something  peculiarly  terrible 
to  me  in  the  thought  that  my  life  from  this  moment  had  become 
forfeit.  More  I  do  not  recollect.  My  first  wish  was  that  Robert 
was  still  living.  I  endeavoured  forcibly  to  recall  to  my  mind  all 
the  wrong  that  the  deceased  had  done  me  during  his  life, — but  strange 
to  say.  my  memory  seemed  to  have  perished.  I  could  recall  nothing 
of  that,  which  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  had  impelled  me  to  mad- 
ness. I  did  not  understand  how  I  had  been  induced  to  commit 
this  murder. 

"  I  was  yet  standing  by  the  corpse.  The  crack  of  some  whips, 
and  the  noise  of  carts,  which  were  passing  through  the  wood,  brought 
me  to  my  senses.  The  deed  had  been  committed  scarcely  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  high  road,  and  I  was  forced  to  think  of  my  own 
safety. 

"  Unintentionally  I  strayed  deeper  into  the  wood.  On  the  way, 
it  struck  me  that  the  deceased  once  possessed  a  watch.  I  needed 
money  to  reach  the  border — and  yet  I  lacked  courage  to  return  to 
the  spot,  where  the  dead  man  lay.  A  thought  of  the  devil  and  of 
an  omnipotence  of  the  deity  began  to  terrify  me.  However,  I 
summoned  all  my  audacity,  and  resolved  to  set  all  hell  at  defiance. 
I  returned  to  the  place.  I  found  what  I  had  expected,  and  also 
money  amounting  to  rather  more  than  a  dollar  in  a  green  purse. 
Just  as  I  was  about  to  put  them  both  up,  I  suddenly  stopped,  and 
began  to  reflect.  It  was  no  fit  of  shame,  nor  was  it  the  fear  of  in- 
creasing my  crime  by  plunder.  I  believe  it  was  out  of  a  spirit  of 
defiance  that  I  flung  away  the  watch,  and  only  kept  half  the  money. 
I  wished  to  be  taken  for  a  personal  enemy  of  the  murdered  man,  but 
not  for  one  who  had  robbed  him. 

"  I  now  fled  deeper  into  the  wood,  which  I  knew  extended  four 
German  miles  to  the  north,  and  there  touched  the  border  of  the 
country.  Till  noon  I  ran  breathless.  The  rapidity  of  my  flight 
had  dissipated  the  anguish  of  my  conscience,  but  the  return  of  that 
anguish  was  frightful,  when  my  strength  more  and  more  declined. 
A  thousand  hideous  forms  passed  before  me,  and  struck  into  my 
heart,  like  sharp  knives.  Between  a  life  filled  with  an  increasing 
terror  of  death,  and  a  violent  end,  the  awful  choice  was  now  left 
me — and  choose  I  must.  I  had  not  the  heart  to  quit  the  world  by 
self-destruction,  and  I  was  terrified  at  the  prospect  of  remaining  in 
it.  Fixed  as  it  were  between  the  certain  torments  of  life,  and  the 
uncertain  terrors  of  eternity — unable  to  live  or  to  die—  I  passed  the 
sixth  hour  of  my  flight — an  hour  brimful  of  horrors,  such  as  no  living 
man  could  narrate. 

"  Slowly — absorbed  in  myself,  and  with  my  hat  unconsciously 
slouched  over  my  face,  as  if  I  wished  to  conceal  myself  from  the  eye 
of  inanimate  nature, — I  had  insensibly  followed  a  narrow  path,  which 
led  me  through  the  deepest  part  of  the  thicket — when  suddenly  a 
rough  imperious  voice  called  to  me,  '  stop.'  The  voice  was  quite 
close;  my  abstraction  and  the  slouched  hat  had  prevented  me  from 


42  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

looking  round.  I  raised  my  eyes  and  saw  a  wild  man,  armed  with 
a  great  knotted  club,  approaching  me.  His  figure  was  almost  gi- 
gantic— at  least  my  first  surprise  made  me  think  so — and  the  colour 
of  his  skin  was  a  yellow  mulatto  sort  of  black,  with  which  the 
•whiteness  of  a  squinting  eye  stood  in  terrible  contrast.  Instead  of  a 
girdle  he  had  a  thick  rope  wound  twice  round  a  green  woollen 
coat,  in  which  were  stuck  a  broad  knife  and  a  pistol.  The  cry  was 
repeated,  and  a  powerful  arm  held  me  fast.  The  sound  of  a  man 
had  frightened  me,  but  the  aspect  of  a  villain  gave  me  new  heart. 
In  my  present  situation,  I  had  cause  to  tremble  before  every  honest 
man,  but  none  to  tremble  before  a  robber. 
"  '  Who  is  there?'  said  the  apparition. 

"  '  One  like  yourself,'  was  my  answer,  *  if  you  really  correspond 
to  your  appearance.' 

"  *  That  is  not  the  way  out?     What  are  you  looking  for  here?' 
"  *  What  is  that  to  you?'  retorted  I,  insolently. 
"  The  man  considered  me  twice  from  top  to  toe.     It  seemed  as 
though  he  wished  to  compare  my  figure  with  his  own,  and  my 
answer  with  my  figure.     *  You  speak  as  rudely  as  a  beggar,'  he  said 
at  last. 

"  *  Perhaps  so.     I  was  a  beggar  yesterday/ 

"  The  man  laughed.  '  One  could  swear  you  did  not  want  to  pass 
for  any  thing  better  now.5 

"  '  For  something  worse  then.' — I  wished  to  proceed. 
"  '  Softly  friend,  why  in  such  a  hurry?    What  time  have  you  to 
lose?' 

"  I  reflected  for  a  moment.  How  the  words  came  to  my  tongue 
I  do  not  know.  4  Life  is  short,'  said  I,  slowly,  '  and  hell  lasts  for 
ever !' 

"  He  stared  at  me.  '  May  I  be  d — d,'  he  said  at  last,  *  if  thou  hast 
not  brushed  close  by  a  gallows.' 

"  4  Very  possibly.  So  good  bye  for  the  present,  comrade !' 
"  '  Topp,  comrade!'  he  cried,  as  he  drew  a  tin  flask  out  of  his 
hunting-pouch,  took  a  good  draught  from  it,  and  handed  it  to  me. 
Flight  and  anguish  had  exhausted  my  energies,  and  nothing  had 
passed  my  lips  the  whole  day.  I  had  already  feared  that  I  should 
have  sunk  from  exhaustion  in  this  wood,  where  no  refreshment  was 
to  be  expected  for  three  miles  round.  Judge  how  joyfully  I  re- 
sponded to  this  health.  With  the  animating  draught  new  strength 
flowed  into  my  bones,  new  courage  into  my  heart,  and  I  felt  hope 
and  the  love  of  life.  I  began  to  think  that  perhaps  I  was  not  quite 
wretched ;  so  much  at  least  was  the  welcome  beverage  all  to  do.  Yes, 
I  must  even  confess  that  my  situation  approached  that  of  happi- 
ness, for  at  last,  after  a  thousand  vain  hopes,  I  had  found  a  creature 
who  eeemed  similar  to  myself.  In  the  condition  to  which  I  had 
fallen  I  should  have  drank  good  fellowship  with  the  spirit  of  evil 
himself  for  the  sake  of  having  a  confidant. 

"  The  man  had  stretched  himself  out  on  the  grass.  I  did  the 
same. 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  43 

"  '  Your  liquor  has  done  me  good,'  said  I,  '  We  must  become 
acquainted.' 

u  He  struck  fire  to  light  his  pipe. 

"  '  Have  you  carried  on  this  business  long?' 

"  He  looked  hard  at  me.     i  What  do  you  mean  by  that?' 

"  '  Has  this  often  been  stained  with  blood?'  I  drew  the  knife 
from  his  girdle. 

"  '  Who  are  you?'  said  he,  in  a  fearful  tone,  and  he  laid  down  his 
pipe. 

"  '  A  murderer  like  you,  but  only  a  beginner.' 

"  The  man  stared  at  me,  and  took  up  his  pipe  again.  Do  you 
reside  here  ?'  he  said  at  last. 

"  '  Three  miles  off.  I  am  the  host  of  the  Sun  at ,  of  whom 

perhaps  you  have  heard.' 

"  The  man  sprung  up  as  if  possessed.  '  The  poacher  Wolf,'  he 
cried  hastily. 

"  '  The  same !' 

"  '  Welcome,  comrade,  welcome !'  cried  he,  and  shook  my  hands 
violently.  '  That  is  brave,  that  I  have  you  at  last,  mine  host  of  the 
Sun.  Day  and  night  have  I  been  thinking  how  to  get  you.  I  know 
you  well.  I  know  all.  I  have  reckoned  on  you  long  ago. 

"  '  Reckoned  on  me  !  For  what?' 

"  *  The  whole  country  round  is  full  of  you.  You  have  enemies! 
A  bailiff  has  oppressed  you,  Wolf !  They  have  ruined  you,  and  the 
wrongs  you  have  suffered  cry  aloud  to  Heaven.' 

"  The  man  became  warm.  '  Because  you  have  shot  a  few  hogs, 
which  the  prince  feeds  in  our  fields  they  have  dragged  you  about  for 
years  in  the  house  of  correction  and  the  fortification,  they  have 
robbed  you  of  your  house  and  business  and  made  you  a  beggar.  Has 
it  come  to  this,  brother,  that  a  man  is  worth  no  more  than  a  hare? 
Are  we  not  better  than  brutes  of  the  field?  And  a  fellow  like  you 
could  suffer  that?' 

"  'Could  I  alter  it?' 

"  '  That  we  shall  see.  But  tell  me,  whence  do  you  come,  and 
what  do  you  purpose?' 

"  I  began  to  tell  him  all  my  history.  The  man,  without  waiting 
till  I  had  finished  it,  sprung  up  with  joyous  impatience,  and  drew 
me  after  him.  '  Come,  brother  host  of  the  Sun,'  said  he, '  now  you 
are  ripe,  now  I  have  you  when  I  wanted  you.  I  shall  get  honour 
by  you.  Follow  me. 

"  '  Where  will  you  take  me?' 

"  '  Do  not  stop  to  ask,  but  follow.'  He  then  forcibly  dragged  me 
along. 

"  We  had  proceeded  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  wood  be- 
came more  and  more  steep,  pathless  and  wild,  neither  of  us  uttered 
a  word,  until  at  last  my  leader's  whistle  startled  me  out  of  my  medita- 
tions. I  raised  my  eyes,  we  were  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  steep 
rock,  which  was  bowed  down  into  a  deep  cleft.  A  second  whistle 


44  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

answered  from  the  interior  hollow  of  the  rock,  and  a  ladder  slowly 
rose  from  the  abyss,  as  of  its  own  accord.  My  conductor  descended 
first,  and  told  me  to  wait  till  he  returned.  '  I  must  first  chain  up 
my  dog,'  said  he,  e  you  are  strange  here,  and  the  beast  would  tear 
you  to  pieces.' 

"  I  now  stood  alone  before  the  abyss,  and  well  I  knew  that  I  was 
alone.  The  improvidence  of  my  leader  did  not  escape  my  attention. 
It  only  required  a  hearty  resolution  to  draw  up  the  ladder ;  then  I 
should  have  been  free,  and  my  flight  would  have  been  secure.  I 
confess  that  I  perceived  that.  I  looked  down  into  the  abyss,  which 
•was  now  to  receive  me,  and  it  dimly  reminded  me  of  the  descent 
into  hell,  from  which  there  is  no  redemption.  I  began  to  shudder 
at  the  career  I  was  about  to  enter;  only  a  rapid  flight  could  save 
me.  I  resolved  on  this  flight;  I  had  already  stretched  my  hand  to- 
wards the  ladder,  but  at  once  there  was  a  thunder  in  my  ears,  a  noise 
about  me  like  the  scornful  laughter  of  hell,  and  it  seemed  to  say: 
*  What  can  a  murderer  risk?'  My  arm  fell  back  as  if  paralysed.  I 
had  reckoned  rightly,  the  time  for  repentance  had  passed,  the  mur- 
der I  had  committed  lay  towering  up  behind  me  like  a  rock,  and 
cut  off  my  retreat  for  ever.  At  the  same  time  my  conductor  re-ap- 
peared and  told  me  I  might  come.  There  was  now  no  longer  any 
choice.  I  clambered  down. 

"  We  had  proceeded  some  steps,  beneath  the  wall  of  the  rock, 
when  the  ground  became  wider  and  some  huts  were  visible.  In  the 
midst  of  these  was  a  round  grass  plat,  on  which  about  eighteen  or 
twenty  persons  were  lying  round  a  charcoal  fire.  *  Here  comrades,' 
said  my  conductor,  placing  me  in  the  centre  of  the  circle.  '  Our 
host  of  the  Sun !  Bid  him  welcome !' 

"  '  The  host  of  the  Sun !'  cried  all  at  once,  and  they  all — men  and 
women — rose  and  pressed  round  me.  Shall  I  confess  it.  The  joy 
was  hearty  and  unaffected,  confidence,  nay,  esteem  appeared  in  every 
face;  one  pressed  my  hand,  another  familiarly  shook  me  by  my 
coat — the  whole  scene  resembled  that  at  the  re-appearance  of  an  old 
and  valued  friend.  My  arrival  had  interrupted  the  feast,  which 
they  had  just  begun.  They  now  continued  it,  and  invited  me  to 
pledge  the  welcome.  Game  of  all  kinds  formed  the  meal,  and 
the  wine  flask  passed  without  flagging  from  hand  to  hand.  Good 
cheer  and  unity  seemed  to  animate  the  entire  band,  and  the  contest 
among  them  all  was  who  should  show  the  most  extravagant  delight 
at  my  arrival. 

"They  had  seated  me  between  two  women,  which  was  the  post  of 
honour  at  the  table.  I  expected  to  find  the  refuse  of  their  sex,  but 
how  great  was  my  astonishment  when  I  discovered  among  this  in- 
famous troop  the  most  beautiful  female  forms  that  my  eyes  had  ever 
beheld.  Margaret,  the  eldest  and  most  beautiful  of  the  two,  was 
called  Miss,  and  could  scarcely  have  been  five-and-twenty.  Her 
words  were  very  bold,  and  her  gestures  still  more  so.  Maria,  the 
younger,  was  married,  but  she  had  fled  from  a  husband,  who  had 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  45 

ill-used  her.  She  was  more  elegant,  but  pale  and  delicate-looking, 
and  less  striking  to  the  eye  than  her  fiery  neighbour.  Both  women 
strove  hard  to  excite  my  passion.  The  beautiful  Margaret  endea- 
voured to  overcome  my  bashfulness  by  loose  jests,  but  the  whole 
woman  was  repulsive  to  me,  and  the  bashful  Maria  had  gained  my 
heart  for  ever. 

'"You  see,  brother  host  of  the  Sun,'  began  the  man  who  had 
brought  me,  'You  see  how  we  live  together,  and  every  day  is  like 
this  one.  Is  it  not  true,  comrades?' 

"  'Every  day  like  this !'  repeated  the  whole  band. 

"  'If,  then,  you  can  resolve  to  find  pleasure  in  our  mode  of  life, 
strike  a  bargain  and  be  our  leader.  I  have  held  that  post  hitherto, 
but  I  will  give  it  up  to  you.  Are  you  content,  comrades.' 

"  A  joyful  '  Yes !'  was  responded  from  every  throat. 

"  My  head  was  on  fire^  my  brain  was  turned,  and  my  blood  was 
boiling  with  wine  and  passion.  The  world  had  cast  me  out  as 
infected  with  the  plague,  but  here  I  found  a  brotherly  reception, 
honour,  and  comfort.  Whatever  choice  I  made  death  awaited  me, 
but  here  I  could  at  least  sell  my  life  for  a  higher  price.  Sensuality 
was  my  most  violent  tendency;  hitherto  the  other  sex  had  only 
shown  me  contempt,  but  here  I  should  find  favour  and  boundless 
enjoyment.  My  determination  cost  me  but  little.  '  I  stay  with 
you,  comrades/  cried  I,  loudly  and  resolutely,  and  walked  into 
the  midst  of  the  band.  '  I  remain  with  you,'  I  cried  again,  '  if 
you  will  give  me  my  beautiful  neighbour.'  All  agreed  to  grant  my 
request,  and  I  was  the  declared  possessor  of  a  harlot,  and  owner  of  a 
band  of  robbers." 


The  following  part  of  the  history  I  entirely  pass  over;  the  merely 
detestable  has  nothing  instructive  for  the  reader.  An  unfortunate 
man  who  had  sunk  to  this  depth,  would  at  last  necessarily  allow 
himself  all  that  raises  the  indignation  of  mankind.  He  did  not, 
however,  commit  another  murder,  as  he  himself  confessed  upon  the 
rack. 

The  fame  of  this  man  shortly  spread  over  the  entire  province. 
The  high  roads  became  unsafe;  the  citizens  were  rendered  uneasy 
by  the  burglaries  committed  in  the  night  ;  the  name  of  the  "  Host 
of  the  Sun"  became  the  terror  of  the  country-people,  justice  searched 
for  him,  and  a  reward  was  offered  for  his  head.  He  was  fortunate 
enough  to  frustrate  all  attempts  made  against  his  liberty,  and  cunning 
enough  to  turn  to  the  account  of  his  safety  the  superstition  of  the 
wonder-loving  peasantry.  His  comrades  had  to  spread  the  report 
that  he  had  made  a  compact  with  the  devil,  and  understood  witch- 
craft. The  district  in  which  he  played  his  part,  belonged  less  at 
that  time  than  now  to  the  enlightened  part  of  Germany ;  the  re- 
ports were  believed,  and  his  person  was  secure.  No  one  showed  a 


46  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

desire  to  attack  the  dangerous  fellow  who  had  the  devil  at  his 
service. 

He  had  already  for  a  year  followed  his  melancholy  profession, 
when  it  began  to  grow  insupportable.  The  band  at  whose  head  he 
stood,  did  not  fulfil  his  brilliant  expectations.  A  seductive  exterior 
had  dazzled  him  amid  the  fumes  of  the  wine;  now  he  saw  with 
horror  how  frightfully  he  had  been  deceived.  Hunger  and  want 
took  the  place  of  that  'superfluity  by  which  his  senses  had  been 
lulled;  very  often  he  had  to  risk  his  life  on  a  meal,  which  was 
scarcely  sufficient  to  keep  him  from  starvation.  The  phantom  of 
that  brotherly  concord  vanished;  envy,  suspicion,  and  jealousy 
raged  among  this  abandoned  crew.  Justice  had  offered  a  reward  to 
any  one  who  should  deliver  him  up  alive,  with  a  solemn  pardon  if 
he  were  an  accomplice — a  powerful  temptation  for  the  dregs  of  the 
earth !  The  unhappy  man  knew  his  peril.  The  honesty  of  those 
who  betrayed  God  and  man,  was  a  bad  security  for  his  life.  From, 
this  moment  sleep  was  gone;  a  deadly  and  eternal  anguish  preyed 
on  his  repose;  the  hideous  spectre  of  suspicion  rattled  behind  him, 
wherever  he  fled,  tortured  him  when  he  was  awake,  lay  down  by 
him  when  he  went  to  sleep,  and  scared  him  with  horrible  visions. 
His  conscience,  which  had  been  for  some  time  dumb,  now  recovered  its 
speech,  and  the  adder  of  remorse,  which  had  slept,  now  awoke  amid 
the  general  storm  of  his  bosom.  All  his  hatred  was  now  diverted 
from  mankind,  and  turned  its  frightful  edge  against  himself.  He 
now  forgave  all  nature,  and  found  none  but  himself  to  execrate. 

Vice  had  completed  its  instruction  of  this  unhappy  being;  his 
naturally  good  sense  at  last  overcame  the  mournful  delusion.  Now 
he  felt  how  low  he  had  fallen,  calm  melancholy  took  the  place  of 
grinding  despair.  With  tears  he  wished  the  past  were  recalled,  for 
now  he  felt  certain  that  he  could  go  through  it  differently.  He 
began  to  hope  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  become  honest,  because 
he  felt  that  he  could  be  so.  At  the  highest  point  of  his  depravity, 
he  was  perhaps  nearer  to  goodness  than  before  his  first  fault. 

About  the  same  time,  the  seven  years'  war  had  broken  out, 
and  recruiting  was  going  on  with  vigour.  This  circumstance  in- 
spired the  unhappy  man  with  hope,  and  he  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
sovereign,  an  extract  of  which  I  insert : 

"  If  your  princely  favour  feels  no  repugnance  towards  descending 
to  me,  if  criminals  of  my  class  are  not  beyond  the  sphere  of  your 
mercy,  grant  me  a  hearing,  I  beg  of  your  most  serene  highness  !  I 
am  a  murderer  and  a  robber;  the  law  condemns  me  to  death,  the 
tribunals  are  in  search  of  me,  and  I  offer  myself  to  serve  as  a  volun- 
teer. But  at  the  same  time,  I  bring  a  singular  request  before  your 
throne.  I  detest  my  life,  and  do  not  fear  death,  but  it  is  terrible 
for  me  to  die  without  having  lived.  I  would  live  to  make  repara- 
tion for  a  portion  of  the  past,  I  would  live  to  make  some  atonement 
to  the  state,  which  I  have  offended.  My  execution  will  be  an 
example  to  the  world,  but  no  compensation  for  my  deeds.  I  detest 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  47 

vice,  and  have  a  burning  desire  for  integrity  and  virtue.  I  have 
shown  the  talents  for  becoming  formidable  to  my  country — I  hope 
I  have  some  left  to  be  of  service  to  it. 

"  I  know  that  I  am  asking  something  which  is  unprecedented. 
My  life  is  forfeit,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  negotiate  with  justice. 
But  I  do  not  appear  in  bonds  and  fetters  before  you — I  am  still 
free — and  fear  on  my  part  has  the  smallest  share  in  my  request. 

"  It  is  for  mercy  that  I  ask.  If  I  had  a  claim  to  justice,  I  should 
no  longer  venture  to  assert  it.  But  of  one  thing  I  may  remind  my 
judge.  The  epoch  of  my  crimes  begins  with  the  judgment  that 
for  ever  deprived  me  of  honour.  Had  fairness  been  less  denied  me 
on  that  occasion,  I  should  not  now,  perhaps,  have  stood  in  need  of 
mercy. 

"  Show  mercy,  my  prince,  instead  of  justice.  If  it  is  in  your 
princely  power  to  move  the  law  in  my  favour,  then  grant  me  my 
life.  From  henceforth  it  shall  be  devoted  to  your  service.  If  you 
can  do  so,  let  me  learn  your  gracious  will  from  the  public  journals, 
and  I  wTill  appear  in  the  metropolis  on  your  word  as  a  prince.  If 
you  have  resolved  otherwise,  let  justice  do  her  part,  I  must  do 
mine." 

This  petition  remained  unanswered,  and  so  did  a  second,  and 
a  third,  in  which  the  applicant  asked  for  a  trooper's  place  in  the 
prince's  service.  His  hopes  for  a  pardon  were  utterly  extinguished, 
so  he  resolved  to  quit  the  country,  and  to  die  as  a  brave  soldier 
in  the  service  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 

He  succeeded  in  escaping  from  his  land,  and  began  his  journey. 
The  road  led  him  through  a  little  provincial  town,  where  he  wished 
to  pass  the  night.  A  short  time  before,  mandates  of  exceeding  strict- 
ness had  been  published  throughout  the  country,  requiring  a  severe 
examination  of  travellers,  because  the  sovereign,  a  prince  of  the 
empire,  had  taken  part  in  the  war.  The  toll-collector  (  Thorschreiber) 
of  this  little  town  had  just  received  a  mandate,  and  he  was  sitting 
on  a  bench  before  the  toll-bar,  when  the  "  Host  of  the  Sun"  came 
up.  The  appearance  of  this  man  had  in  it  something  comical,  and 
at  the  same  time  wild  and  terrible.  The  lean  pony  which  he  rode, 
and  the  grotesque  choice  of  his  attire,  in  which  his  taste  had  probably 
been  less  consulted  than  the  chronology  of  his  thefts,  contrasted 
singularly  enough  with  a  face  over  which  so  many  raging  passions 
were  spread,  like  mangled  corpses  on  a  field  of  battle.  The  collector 
was  struck  by  the  sight  of  this  strange  wanderer.  He  had  grown 
grey  at  the  toll-bar,  and  by  attending  to  his  office  for  forty  years 
had  become  an  infallible  physiognomist  of  all  the  vagabonds  about. 
The  falcon-glance  of  this  investigator  did  not  miss  its  man  on  this 
occasion.  He  at  once  fastened  the  town-gate,  and  asked  the  rider 
for  his  passport  while  he  secured  his  bridle.  Wolf  was  prepared  for 
chances  of  this  kind,  and  actually  had  with  him  a  passport,  which 
he  had  taken  shortly  before  while  plundering  a  merchant.  This 
single  voucher,  however,  did  not  suffice  to  counteract  the  observa- 


48  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

tion  of  forty  years,  and  to  move  the  oracle  of  the  toll-bar  to  a  recan- 
tation. He  trusted  his  eyes  more  than  the  paper,  and  Wolf  was 
obliged  to  follow  him  to  the  office  of  the  bailiff. 

The  superior  of  the  office  examined  the  passport  and  declared  it 
correct.  He  was  an  ardent  lover  of  news,  and  it  was  his  delight  to 
chatter  over  the  newspaper  by  his  bottle.  The  passport  told  him 
that  the  bearer  had  come  straight  from  those  foreign  countries, 
where  the  theatre  of  the  war  was  situated.  He  hoped  to  get  pri- 
vate intelligence  from  the  stranger,  and  sent  back  a  secretary  with 
the  passport  to  invite  him  to  partake  of  a  bottle  of  wine. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  "  Host  of  the  Sun"  was  standing  in  front 
of  the  office,  and  the  whimsical  spectacle  had  assembled  the  rabble 
of  the  town  in  throngs.  The  people  whispered  into  one  another's 
ears,  pointed  at  the  horse  and  rider,  till  at  last  the  insolence  of  the 
mob  increased  to  a  loud  tumult.  The  horse,  at  which  every  one 
pointed,  was  unluckily  a  stolen  one,  and  Wolf  fancied  that  it  had 
been  described  in  placards  and  was  recognised.  The  unexpected 
hospitality  of  the  superior  confirmed  his  suspicion.  He  now  con- 
sidered it  certain  that  the  falsity  of  his  passport  was  discovered,  and 
that  the  invitation  was  only  a  snare  to  catch  him  alive  and  without 
resistance.  His  bad  conscience  besotted  him,  so  he  clapped  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  rode  off  without  giving  a  reply. 

This  sudden  flight  was  the  signal  for  an  uproar. 

"  A  thief!"  cried  all;  and  off  they  flew  after  him.  To  the  rider 
it  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death;  he  had  already  the  start,  his  fol- 
lowers panted  breathlessly,  and  he  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of 
escape.  But  a  heavy  hand  pressed  invisibly  towards  him,  the  watch 
of  his  destiny  had  run  down,  the  inexorable  Nemesis  detained  her 
debtor.  The  street  to  which  he  trusted  had  no  outlet,  and  he  was 
forced  to  turn  back  towards  his  persecutors. 

The  noise  of  this  event  had  in  the  meanwhile  set  the  whole  town 
in  an  uproar;  throng  pressed  on  throng,  all  the  streets  were  lined, 
and  a  host  of  enemies  were  marching  towards  him.  He  showed  a 
pistol,  the  mob  receded,  and  he  would  have  made  a  way  through 
the  crowd  by  force.  "  A  shot  from  this,"  said  he,  "  for  the  mad 
fool  who  detains  me/'  A  general  pause  was  dictated  by  fear,  when 
at  last,  a  bold  journeyman  blacksmith  darted  on  his  arm  from  be- 
hind, caught  the  finger  with  which  the  insane  man  was  about  to 
fire,  and  forced  it  out  of  joint.  The  pistol  fell,  the  disarmed  man 
was  pulled  from  his  horse,  and  dragged  to  the  office  in  triumph. 

"  Who  are  you?"  asked  the  judge  in  a  somewhat  brutal  tone. 

"  A  man  who  is  resolved  to  answer  no  question  until  it  is  put 
more  courteously." 

"  Who  are  you?"* 

*  These  questions  appear  the  same  in  English,  but  the  first  in  German  is  "  Wer 
seyd  Ihr,"  and  the  second  "  Wer  sind  Sie."  According  to  German  usage  the  latter 
alone  is  courteous. 


THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR.  49 

"  That  which  I  represented  myself  to  be.  I  have  travelled  all 
through  Germany,  and  never  found  impudence  at  home,  anywhere 
but  here." 

"  Your  speedy  flight  renders  you  very  suspicious.     Why  did  you 

"  Because  I  was  tired  of  being  the  laughing-stock  of  your  rabble." 

"  You  threatened  to  fire." 

"  My  pistol  was  not  loaded." 

The  weapon  was  examined,  and,  true  enough,  it  contained  no 
bullet. 

"  Why  did  you  secretly  carry  arms?" 

"  Because  I  have  with  me  articles  of  value,  and  because  I  have 
been  warned  against  a  certain  *  Host  of  the  Sun,'  who  is  said  to  be 
roving  about  these  parts." 

"  Your  replies  argue  much  for  your  audacity,  but  little  for  the 
goodness  of  your  cause.  I  will  give  you  till  to-morrow  to  discover 
the  truth  to  me." 

"  I  shall  abide  by  what  I  have  already  said." 

"  Let  him  be  conducted  to  the  tower." 

"  To  the  tower?  I  hope,  Herr  Superior,  that  there  is  still  justice 
in  this  country.  I  shall  require  satisfaction." 

"  I  will  give  it  you  as  soon  as  you  are  acquitted." 

The  next  morning  the  superior  reflected  that  the  stranger  might 
be  innocent  after  all ;  a  dictatorial  address  could  effect  nothing  with 
his  obstinacy,  and  it  might,  perhaps,  be  better  to  treat  him  with 
respect  and  moderation.  He  collected  the  jury  of  the  place,  and 
had  the  prisoner  brought  forward. 

"  Forgive  me  for  the  first  outbreak,  sir,  if  I  accosted  you  some- 
what hardly  yesterday." 

"  Very  readily,  if  you  treat  me  thus." 

"  Our  laws  are  severe,  and  your  affair  made  a  noise.  I  cannot 
release  you  without  committing  a  breach  of  duty.  Appearance  is 
against  you,  and  I  wish  you  would  say  something,  by  which  it 
might  be  refuted." 

r'  What,  if  I  know  nothing?" 

'  Then  I  must  lay  the  case  before  the   government,  and   you 
will,  in  the  meanwhile,  remain  closely  confined." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  you  run  the  risk  of  being  flogged  over  the  border  as  a 
vagrant,  or,  if  mercy  is  shown,  of  being  placed  among  the  recruits." 

He  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  and  appeared  to  be  undergoing  a 
severe  contest,  then  he  suddenly  turned  to  the  judge. 

"  Can  I  be  alone  with  you  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour?" 

The  jury  cast  ambiguous  glances  at  one  another,  but  withdrew  at 
a  commanding  sign  from  their  head. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  want?" 

"  Your  demeanour  of  yesterday,  Herr  Superior,  would  never  have 
brought  me  to  a  confession,  for  I  set  force  at  defiance.  The  mode- 

E 


50  THE  CRIMINAL  FROM  LOST  HONOUR. 

ration  with  which  you  have  treated  me  to-day  has  given  me  con- 
fidence and  respect  for  you.  I  think  that  you  are  an  honourable 
man." 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

"  I  see  that  you  are  an  honourable  man;  I  have  long  wished  for  a 
man  like  you.  Give  me,  I  pray,  your  right  hand." 

"To  what  end?" 

"  That  head  is  gray  and  reverend.  You  have  been  long  in  the 
world — have  felt  many  sorrows — is  it  not  so?  And  have  become 
more  humane." 

"  Sir,  to  what  does  this  tend?" 

"You  are  now  distant  by  only  one  step  from  eternity — soon, 
soon  will  you  need  mercy  from  God.  You  will  not  deny  it  to  man. 
Do  you  suspect  nothing?  With  whom  do  you  suppose  you  are 
speaking?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?    You  terrify  me." 

"  If  you  do  not  already  suspect — write  to  your  prince  how  you 
found  me,  and  that  I  myself  of  my  free  choice  was  my  own  betrayer 
— that  God  will  be  merciful  unto  him  as  he  now  shows  mercy  unto 
me.  Entreat  for  me,  old  man,  and  then  let  a  tear  fall  on  your  re- 
port: I  am— the  '  Host  of  the  Sun.'  " 

J.O. 


THE  COLD  HEART. 

BY  WILHELM  HAUFF. 

THOSE  who  travel  through  Swabia  should  always  remember  to 
cast  a  passing  glance  into  the  Schwarzwald,*  not  so  much  for  the 
sake  of  the  trees  (though  pines  are  not  found  everywhere  in  such 
prodigious  numbers,  nor  of  such  a  surpassing  height),  as  for  the 
sake  of  the  people,  who  show  a  marked  difference  from  all  others 
in  the  neighbourhood  around.  They  are  taller  than  ordinary 
men,  broad-shouldered,  have  strong  limbs,  and  it  seems  as  if  the 
bracing  air  which  blows  through  the  pines  in  the  morning,  has 
allowed  them,  from  their  youth  upwards,  to  breathe  more  freely, 
and  has  given  them  a  clearer  eye  and  a  firmer,  though  ruder,  mind 
than  the  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  and  plains.  The  strong  con- 
trast they  form  to  the  people  living  without  the  limits  of  the 
"  Wald,"  consists,  not  merely  in  their  bearing  and  stature,  but  also 
in  their  manners  and  costume.  Those  of  the  Schwarzwald  of  the 
Baden  territory  dress  most  handsomely ;  the  men  allow  their  beards 
to  grow  about  the  chin  just  as  nature  gives  it;  and  their  black 
jackets,  wide  trousers,  which  are  plaited  in  small  folds,  red  stock- 
ings, and  painted  hats  surrounded  by  a  broad  brim,  give  them  a 
strange,  but  somewhat  grave  and  noble  appearance.  Their  usual 
occupations  are  the  manufacturing  of  glass,  and  the  so-called  Dutch 
clocks,  which  they  carry  about  for  sale  over  half  the  globe. 

Another  part  of  the  same  race  lives  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Schwarzwald;  but  their  occupations  have  made  them  contract 
manners  and  customs  quite  different  from  those  of  the  glass  manu- 
facturers. Their  Wald  supplies  their  trade ;  felling  and  fashioning  their 
pines,  they  float  them  through  the  Nagold  into  the  Neckar,  from  thence 
down  the  Rhine  as  far  as  Holland ;  and  near  the  sea  the  Schwarz- 
wiilder  and  their  long  rafts  are  well  known.  Stopping  at  every 
town  which  is  situated  along  the  river,  they  wait  proudly  for  pur- 
chasers of  their  beams  and  planks;  but  the  strongest  and  longest 
beams  they  sell  at  a  high  price  to  Mynheers,  who  build  ships  of 
them.  Their  trade  has  accustomed  them  to  a  rude  and  roving  life, 
their  pleasure  consisting  in  drifting  down  the  stream  on  their 
timber,  their  sorrow  in  wandering  back  again  along  the  shore. 

*  The  Black  Forest. 
E2 


52  THE  COLD  HEART. 

Hence  the  difference  in  their  costume  from  that  of  the  glass  manu- 
facturers. They  wear  jackets  of  a  dark  linen  cloth,  braces  a  hand's 
breadth  wide,  displayed  over  the  chest,  and  trousers  of  black  leather, 
from  the  pocket  of  which  a  brass  rule  sticks  out  as  a  badge  of 
honour;  but  their  pride  and  joy  are  their  boots,  which  are  probably 
the  largest  that  are  worn  in  any  part  of  the  world,  for  they  may  be 
drawn  two  spans  above  the  knee,  and  the  raftsmen  may  walk  about 
in  water  at  three  feet  depth  without  getting  their  feet  wet. 

It  is  but  a  short  time  ago  that  the  belief  in  hobgoblins  of  the 
wood  prevailed  among  the  inhabitants,  this  foolish  superstition 
having  been  eradicated  only  in  modern  times.  But  the  singularity 
about  these  hobgoblins  who  are  said  to  haunt  the  Schwarzwald,  is, 
that  they  also  wear  the  different  costumes  of  the  people.  Thus  it 
is  affirmed  of  the  Glass-mannikin,  a  kind  little  sprite  three  feet 
and  a  half  high,  that  he  never  shows  himself  except  in  a  painted 
little  hat  with  a  broad  brim,  a  doublet,  white  trousers,  and  red 
stockings;  while  Dutch  Michel,  who  haunts  the  other  side  of  the 
forest,  is  said  to  be  a  gigantic,  broad-shouldered  fellow  wearing  the 
dress  of  a  raftsman ;  and  many  who  have  seen  him  say  they  would 
not  like  to  pay  for  the  calves  whose  hides  it  would  require  to  make 
one  pair  of  his  boots,  affirming  that,  without  exaggeration,  a  man 
of  the  middle  height  may  stand  in  one  of  them  with  his  head  only 
just  peeping  out. 

The  following  strange  adventure  with  these  spirits  is  said  to  have 
once  befallen  a  young  Schwarzwalder : — There  lived  a  widow  in 
the  Schwarzwald,  whose  name  was  Frau  Barbara  Munk ;  her  husband 
had  been  a  charcoal-burner,  and  after  his  death  she  had  by  degrees 
prevailed  upon  her  boy,  who  was  now  sixteen  years  old,  to  follow  his 
father's  trade.  Young  Peter  Munk,  a  sly  fellow,  submitted  to  sit 
the  whole  week  near  the  smoking  stack  of  wood,  because  he  had 
seen  his  father  do  the  same ;  or,  black  and  sooty  and  an  abomination 
to  the  people  as  he  was,  to  drive  to  the  nearest  town  and  sell  his  char- 
coal. Now,  a  charcoal-burner  has  much  leisure  for  reflection,  about 
himself  and  others ;  and  when  Peter  Munk  was  sitting  by  his  stack, 
the  dark  trees  around  him,  as  well  as  the  deep  stillness  of  the  forest, 
disposed  his  heart  to  tears,  and  to  an  unknown  secret  longing.  Some- 
thing made  him  sad,  and  vexed  him,  without  his  knowing  exactly 
what  it  was.  At  length,  however,  he  found  out  the  cause  of  his  vex- 
ation,— it  was  his  condition.  "  A  black,  solitary  charcoal-burner," 
he  said  to  himself;  "  it  is  a  wretched  life.  How  much  more  are  the 
glass-manufacturers,  and  the  clockmakers  regarded;  and  even  the 
musicians,  on  a  Sunday  evening !  And  when  Peter  Munk  appears 
washed,  clean,  and  dressed  out  in  his  father's  best  jacket  with  the 
silver  buttons  and  bran  new  red  stockings — if  then,  any  one  walk- 
ing behind  him,  thinks  to  himself,  '  I  wonder  who  that  smart  fel- 
low is?'  admiring,  all  the  time,  my  stockings  and  stately  gait; — if 
then,  I  say,  he  passes  me  and  looks  round,  will  he  not  say,  '  Why, 
it  is  only  Peter  Munk,  the  charcoal-burner.' " 


THE  COLD  HEART.  53 

The  raftsmen  also  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood  were  an  object  of 
envy  to  him.  When  these  giants  of  the  forest  came  over  in  their 
splendid  clothes,  wearing  about  their  bodies  half  a  hundred  weight 
of  silver,  either  in  buckles,  buttons  or  chains,  standing  with  sprawl- 
ing legs  and  consequential  look  to  see  the  dancing,  swearing  in 
Dutch,  and  smoking  Cologne  clay  pipes  a  yard  long,  like  the  most 
noble  Mynheers,  then  he  pictured  to  himself  such  a  raftsman  as  the 
most  perfect  model  of  human  happiness.  But  when  these  fortunate 
men  put  their  hands  into  their  pocket,  pulled  out  handsful  of  thalers 
and  staked  a  Sechsbiitzner  piece  upon  the  cast  of  a  die,  throwing 
their  five  or  ten  florins  to  and  fro,  he  was  almost  mad  and  sneaked 
sorrowfully  home  to  his  hut.  Indeed  he  had  seen  some  of  these  gen- 
tlemen of  the  timber  trade,  on  many  a  holy-day  evening,  lose  more 
than  his  poor  old  father  had  gained  in  the  whole  year.  There  were 
three  of  these  men,  in  particular,  of  whom  he  knew  not  which  to 
admire  most.  The  one  was  a  tall  stout  man  with  ruddy  face,  who 
passed  for  the  richest  man  in  the  neighbourhood ;  he  was  usually 
called  fat  "  Hesekiel."  Twice  every  year  he  went  with  timber  to 
Amsterdam,  and  had  the  good  luck  to  sell  it  so  much  dearer  than 
the  rest  that  he  could  return  home  in  a  splendid  carriage,  while  they 
had  to  walk.  The  second  was  the  tallest  and  leanest  man  in  the 
whole  Wald,  and  was  usually  called  "  the  tall  Schlurker;"  it  was  his 
extraordinary  boldness  that  excited  Munk's  envy,  for  he  contradicted 
people  of  the  first  importance,  took  up  more  room  than  four  stout 
men,  no  matter  how  crowded  the  inn  might  be,  setting  either  both 
his  elbows  upon  the  table,  or  drawing  one  of  his  long  legs  on  the 
bench;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  none  dared  to  oppose  him,  since 
he  had  a  prodigious  quantity  of  money.  The  third  was  a  handsome 
young  fellow,  who  being  the  best  dancer  far  around,  was  hence  called 
"  the  king  of  the  ball-room."  Originally  poor  he  had  been  servant  to 
one  of  the  timber  merchants,  when  all  at  once  he  became  immensely 
rich ;  for  which  some  accounted  by  saying  he  had  found  a  pot  full  of 
money  under  an  old  pine  tree,  while  others  asserted  that  he  had 
fished  up  in  the  Rhine,  near  Bingen,  a  packet  of  gold  coins  with  the 
spear  which  these  raftsmen  sometimes  throw  at  the  fish  as  they  go 
along  in  the  river,  that  packet  being  part  of  the  great  "  Niebelungen- 
hort,"  which  is  sunk  there.  But  however  this  might  be,  the  fact  of 
his  suddenly  becoming  rich  caused  him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  prince 
by  young  and  old. 

Often  did  poor  Peter  Munk  the  coal  burner  think  of  ^  these  three 
men,  when  sitting  alone  in  the  pine  forest.  All  three  indeed  had 
one  great  fault,  which  made  them  hated  by  every  body :  this  was  their 
insatiable  avarice,  their  heartlessness  towards  their  debtors  and  to- 
wards the  poor,  for  the  Schwarzwalder  are  naturally  a  kind-hearted 
people.  However,  we  all  know  how  it  is  in  these  matters ;  though, 
they  were  hated  for  their  avarice,  yet  they  commanded  respect  on 
account  of  their  money,  for  who  but  they  could  throw  away  thalers, 
as  if  they  could  shake  them  from  the  pines? 


54  THE  COLD  HEART. 

"  This  will  do  no  longer,"  said  Peter  one  day  to  himself,  when  he 
felt  very  melancholy,  it  being  the  morrow  after  a  holiday  when  every 
body  had  been  at  the  inn;  "  if  I  don't  soon  thrive  I  shall  make  away 
with  myself;  Oh  that  I  were  as  much  looked  up  to  and  as  rich  as  tho 
stout  Hesekiel,  or  as  bold  and  powerful  as  the  tall  Schlurker,  or  as 
renowned  as  the  king  of  the  ball-room,  and  could  like  him  throw 
thalers  instead  of  kreutzers  to  the  musicians !  I  wonder  where  the 
fellow  gets  his  money !"  Reflecting  upon  all  the  different  means  by 
which  money  may  be  got,  he  could  please  himself  with  none,  till  at 
length  he  thought  of  the  tales  of  those  people  who,  in  times  of  old, 
had  become  rich  through  the  Dutchman  Michel,  or  the  glass-man- 
nikin.  During  his  father's  lifetime  other  poor  people  often  made 
their  calls,  and  then  their  conversation  was  generally  about  rich 
persons,  and  the  means  by  which  they  had  come  by  their  riches; 
in  these  discourses  the  glass-mannikin  frequently  played  a  conspi- 
cuous part.  Now,  if  Peter  strained  his  memory  a  little  he  could 
almost  recall  the  short  verse  which  one  must  repeat  near  the  Tannen- 
biihl  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  to  make  the  sprite  appear.  It  began 
as  follows : 

"Keeper  of  wealth  in  the  forest  of  pine, 
Hundreds  of  years  are  surely  thine  : 
Thine  is  the  tall  pine's  dwelling  place — " 

But  he  might  tax  his  memory  as  much  as  he  pleased,  he  could  re- 
member no  more  of  it.  He  often  thought  of  asking  some  aged  per- 
son what  the  whole  verse  was.  However,  a  certain  fear  of  betray- 
ing his  thoughts  kept  him  back,  and  moreover  he  concluded  that 
the  legend  of  the  glass-mannikin  could  not  be  very  generally  known, 
and  that  but  few  were  acquainted  with  the  incantation,  since  there 
were  not  many  rich  persons  in  the  Wald; — if  it  were  generally 
known,  why  had  not  his  father,  and  other  poor  people,  tried  their 
luck?  At  length,  however,  he  one  day  got  his  mother  to  talk 
about  the  mannikin,  and  she  told  him  what  he  knew  already,  as  she 
herself  remembered  only  the  first  line  of  the  verse,  but  she  added, 
that  the  sprite  would  show  himself  only  to  those  who  had  been  born 
on  a  Sunday,  between  eleven  and  two  o'clock.  He  was,  she  said, 
quite  fit  for  evoking  him,  as  he  was  born  at  twelve  o'clock  at  noon; 
if  he  but  knew  the  verse. 

When  Peter  Munk  heard  this  he  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
joy  and  desire  to  try  the  adventure.  It  appeared  to  him  enough  to 
know  part  of  the  verse,  and  to  be  born  on  a  Sunday,  for  the  glass- 
mannikin  to  show  himself.  Consequently  when  he  one  day  had  sold 
his  coals,  he  did  not  light  a  new  stack,  but  put  on  his  father's  holiday 
jacket,  his  new  red  stockings,  and  best  hat,  took  his  blackthorn  stick, 
five  feet  long  into  his  hand,  and  bade  farewell  to  his  mother,  saying, 
"  I  must  go  to  the  magistrate  in  the  town,  for  we  shall  soon  have  to 
draw  lots  who  is  to  be  soldier,  and  therefore  I  wish  to  impress  once 
more  upon  him  that  you  are  a  widow,  and  I  am  your  only  son."  His 
mother  praised  his  resolution ;  but  he  started  for  the  Tannenblihl. 


THE  COLD  HEART.  55 

This  lies  on  the  highest  point  of  the  Schwarzwald,  and  not  a  village 
or  even  a  hut  was  found,  at  that  time,  for  two  leagues  around,  for 
the  superstitious  people  believed  it  was  haunted;  they  were  even 
very  unwilling  to  fell  timber  in  that  part,  though  the  pines  were  tall 
and  excellent,  for  often  the  axes  of  the  wood-cutters  had  flown  ofl 
the  handle  into  their  feet,  or  the  trees  falling  suddenly,  had  knocked 
the  men  down,  and  either  injured  or  even  killed  them;  moreover, 
they  could  have  used  the  finest  trees  from  there  only  for  fuel,  since 
the  raftsmen  never  would  take  a  trunk  from  the  Tannenbiihl  as 
part  of  a  raft,  there  being  a  tradition  that  both  men  and  timber 
would  come  to  harm,  if  they  had  a  tree  from  that  spot  on  the  water. 
Hence  the  trees  there  grew  so  dense  and  high  that  is  was  almost 
night  at  noon.  When  Peter  Munk  approached  the  place,  he  felt 
quite  awe-stricken,  hearing  neither  voice  nor  footstep  except  his 
own;  no  axe  resounded,  and  even  the  birds  seemed  to  shun  the  dark- 
ness amidst  the  pines. 

Peter  Munk  had  now  reached  the  highest  point  of  the  Tannen- 
biihl, and  stood  before  a  pine  of  enormous  girth,  for  which  a  Dutch 
ship-builder  would  have  given  many  hundred  florins  on  the  spot. 
"  Here,"  said  he,  "  the  treasure-keeper  (Schatzhauser)  no  doubt 
lives,"  and  pulling  off  his  large  hat,  he  made  a  low  bow  before  the 
tree,  cleared  his  throat,  and  said,  with  a  trembling  voice,  "  I  wish  you 
a  good  evening,  Mr.  Glass-mannikin."  But  receiving  no  answer,  and 
all  around  remaining  silent  as  before,  he  thought  it  would  probably  be 
better  to  say  the  verse,  and  therefore  murmured  it  forth.  On  repeating 
the  words,  he  saw,  to  his  great  astonishment,  a  singular  and  very  small 
figure  peep  forth  from  behind  the  tree.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he 
had  beheld  the  glass-mannikin,  just  as  he  was  described,  the  little 
black  jacket,  red  stockings,  hat,  all  even  to  the  pale,  but  fine  shrewd 
countenance  of  which  the  people  so  much  talked,  he  thought  he 
had  seen.  But  alas,  as  quickly  as  it  had  peeped  forth,  as  quickly  it 
had  disappeared  again.  "  Mr.  Glass-mannikin,"  cried  Peter  Munk,  after 
a  short  hesitation,  "  pray  don't  make  a  fool  of  me;  if  you  fancy  that 
I  have  not  seen  you,  you  are  vastly  mistaken,  I  saw  you  very  well 
peeping  forth  from  behind  the  tree."  Still  no  answer,  only  at  times 
he  fancied  he  heard  a  low,  hoarse  tittering  behind  the  tree.  At 
length  his  impatience  conquered  this  fear,  which  had  still  restrained 
him,  and  he  cried,  "  Wait,  you  little  rascal,  I  will  have  you  yet." 
At  the  same  time  he  jumped  behind  the  tree,  but  there  was  no 
Schatzhauser,  and  only  a  pretty  little  squirrel  was  running  up  the 
tree. 

Peter  Munk  shook  his  head;  he  saw  he  had  succeeded  to  a  cer- 
tain degree  in  the  incantation,  and  that  he  perhaps  only  wanted 
one  more  rhyme  to  the  verse  to  evoke  the  glass-mannikin;  he  tried 
over  and  over  again,  but  could  not  think  of  any  thing.  The 
squirrel  showed  itself  on  the  lowest  branches  of  the  tree,  and  seemed 
to  encourage  or  perhaps  to  mock  him.  It  trimmed  itself,  it  rolled 
its  pretty  tail,  and  looked  at  him  with  its  cunning  eyes.  At  length 


56  THE  COLD  HEART. 

he  was  almost  afraid  of  being  alone  with  this  animal;  for  some- 
times it  seemed  to  have  a  man's  head,  and  to  wear  a  three  cor- 
nered hat,  sometimes  to  be  quite  like  another  squirrel,  with  the 
exception  only  of  having  red  stockings  and  black  shoes  on  its  hind 
feet.  In  short  it  was  a  merry  little  creature,  but  still  Peter  felt  an 
awe,  fancying  that  all  was  not  right. 

Peter  now  went  away  with  more  rapid  strides  than  he  had  come. 
The  darkness  of  the  forest  seemed  to  become  blacker  and  blacker ; 
the  trees  stood  closer  to  each  other,  and  he  began  to  be  so  terrified: 
that  he  ran  off  in  a  trot,  and  only  became  more  tranquil  when  he 
heard  dogs  bark  at  a  distance,  and  soon  after  descried  the  smoke  of 
a  hut  through  the  trees.  But  on  coming  nearer  and  seeing  the 
dress  of  the  people,  he  found  that  having  taken  the  contrary  direc- 
tion he  had  got  to  the  raftsmen  instead  of  the  glass-makers.  The 
people  living  in  the  hut  were  wood-cutters,  consisting  of  an  aged 
man  with  his  son  who  was  the  owner,  and  some  grown  up  grand- 
children.  They  received  Peter  Munk,  who  begged  a  night's  quar- 
ter, hospitably  enough  without  asking  his  name  or  residence,  they 
gave  him  cider  to  drink,  and  in  the  evening  a  large  black  cock,  the 
best  meal  in  the  Schwarzwald,  was  served  up  for  supper. 

After  this  meal  the  housewife  and  her  daughters  took  their  dis- 
taffs and  sat  round  a  large  pine  torch,  which  the  boys  fed  with  the 
finest  rosin ;  the  host  with  his  guest  sat  smoking  and  looking  at  the 
women;  while  the  boys  were  busy  carving  wooden  spoons  and 
forks.  The  storm  was  howling  and  raging  through  the  pines  in 
the  forest  without,  and  now  and  then  very  heavy  blasts  were  heard,, 
and  it  was  as  if  whole  trees  were  breaking  off  and  crashing  down. 
The  fearless  youths  were  about  to  run  out  to  witness  this  terrific 
and  beautiful  spectacle,  but  their  grandfather  kept  them  back  with 
a  stern  look  and  these  words:  "I  would  not  advise  any  of  you," 
cried  he,  "to  go  now  outside  the  door;  by  heavens  he  never  would 
return,  for  Michel  the  Dutchman  is  building  this  night  a  new  raft 
in  the  forest." 

The  younger  of  them  looked  at  him  with  astonishment,  hav- 
ing probably  heard  before  of  Michel,  but  they  now  begged 
their  grandpapa  to  tell  them  some  interesting  story  of  him.  Peter 
Munk  who  had  heard  but  confused  stories  of  Michel  the  Dutch- 
man on  the  other  side  of  the  forest,  joined  in  this  request,  asking 
the  old  man  who  and  where  he  was.  "  He  is  the  lord  of  the  forest," 
was  the  answer,  "  and  from  your  not  having  heard  this  at  your  age, 
it  follows  that  you  must  be  a  native  of  those  parts  just  beyond  the 
Tannenbiihl  or  perhaps  still  more  distant.  But  I  will  tell  you  all  I 
know,  and  how  the  story  goes  about  him.  A  hundred  years  ago  or 
thereabouts,  there  were  far  and  wide  no  people  more  upright  in 
their  dealings  than  the  Schwarzwlilder,  at  least  so  my  grandfather 
used  to  tell  me.  Now,  since  there  is  so  much  money  in  the  coun- 
try, the  people  are  dishonest  and  bad.  The  young  fellows  dance 
and  riot  on  Sundays,  and  swear  to  such  a  degree  that  it  is  horrible 


THE  COLD  HEART.  57 

to  hear  them ;  whereas  formerly  it  was  quite  different,  and  I  have 
often  said  and  now  say,  though  he  should  look  in  through  the 
window,  that  the  Dutchman  Michel  is  the  cause  of  all  this  de- 
pravity. A  hundred  years  ago  then  there  lived  a  very  rich  tim- 
ber merchant  who  had  many  servants ;  he  carried  his  trade  far 
down  the  Rhine  and  was  very  prosperous,  being  a  pious  man. 
One  evening  a  person  such  as  he  had  never  seen  came  to  his 
door;  his  dress  was  like  that  of  the  young  fellows  of  the  Schwarz- 
wald,  but  he  was  full  a  head  taller  than  any  of  them,  and  no 
one  had  ever  thought  there  could  be  such  a  giant.  He  asked 
for  work,  and  the  timber-merchant,  seeing  he  was  strong,  and  able 
to  carry  great  weights,  agreed  with  him  about  the  wages  and  took 
him  into  his  service.  He  found  Michel  to  be  a  labourer  such  as 
he  had  never  yet  had;  for  in  felling  trees  he  was  equal  to  three 
ordinary  men,  and  when  six  men  were  pulling  at  one  end  of  a 
trunk  he  would  carry  the  other  end  alone.  After  having  been 
employed  in  felling  timber  for  six  months,  he  came  one  day  before 
his  master,  saying,  '  I  have  now  been  cutting  wood  long  enough 
here,  and  should  like  to  see  what  becomes  of  my  trunks;  what  say 
you  to  letting  me  go  with  the  rafts  for  once?'  To  which  his  mas- 
ter replied,  '  I  have  no  objection,  Michel,  to  your  seeing  a  little 
of  the  world ;  to  be  sure  I  want  strong  men  like  yourself  to  fell  the 
timber,  and  on  the  river  all  depends  upon  skill;  but,  nevertheless, 
be  it  for  this  time  as  you  wish.' 

"Now  the  float  with  which  Michel  was  to  go,  consisted  of 
eight  rafts,  and  in  the  last  there  were  some  of  the  largest  beams. 
But  what  then?  The  evening  before  starting,  the  tall  Michel 
brought  eight  beams  to  the  water,  thicker  and  longer  than  had  ever 
been  seen,  and  he  carried  every  one  of  them  as  easily  upon  his 
shoulder  as  if  it  had  been  a  rowing  pole,  so  that  all  were  amazed. 
Where  he  had  felled  them,  no  one  knows  to  this  day.  The  heart- 
of  the  timber-merchant  was  leaping  with  joy  when  he  saw  this,  cal- 
culating what  these  beams  would  fetch;  but  Michel  said,  'Well, 
these  are  for  my  travelling  on,  with  those  chips  I  should  not  be 
able  to  get  on  at  all.'  His  master  was  going  to  make  him  a  pre- 
sent of  a  pair  of  boots,  but  throwing  them  aside,  Michel  brought 
out  a  pair  the  largest  that  had  ever  been  seen,  and  my  grandfather 
assured  me  they  weighed  a  hundred  pounds  and  were  five  feet 
long. 

'The  float  started;  and  if  Michel  had  before  astonished  the 
wood-cutters,  he  perfectly  astonished  the  raftsmen ;  for  his  raft, 
instead  of  drifting  slowly  down  the  river  as  they  thought  it  would, 
by  reason  of  the  immense  beams,  darted  on  like  an  arrow,  as  soon 
as  they  came  into  the  Neckar.  If  the  river  took  a  turn,  or  if 
they  came  to  any  part  where  they  had  a  difficulty  in  keeping  the 
middle  stream  or  were  in  danger  of  running  aground,  Michel 
always  jumped  into  the  water,  pushing  his  float  either  to  the  right 
or  to  the  left,  so  that  he  glided  past  without  danger.  If  they  came 


58  THE  COLD  HEART. 

to  a  part  where  the  river  ran  straight,  Michel  often  sprang  to  the 
foremost  raft,  and  making  all  put  up  their  poles,  fixed  his  own 
enormous  pole  in  the  sand,  and  by  one  push  made  the  float  dart 
along,  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  land,  trees,  and  villages  were 
flying  by  them.  Thus  they  came  in  half  the  time  they  generally 
occupied  to  Cologne  on  the  Rhine,  where  they  formerly  used  to  sell 
their  timber.  Here  Michel  said,  '  You  are  but  sorry  merchants 
and  know  nothing  of  your  advantage.  Think  you  these  Colognese 
want  all  the  timber  from  the  Schwarzwald  for  themselves?  I  tell 
you  no,  they  buy  it  of  you  for  half  its  value,  and  sell  it  dear  to  Hol- 
land. Let  us  sell  our  small  beams  here,  and  go  to  Holland  with  the 
krge  ones;  what  we  get  above  the  ordinary  price  is  our  own 
profit.' 

"  Thus  spoke  the  subtle  Michel,  and  the  others  consented;  some 
because  they  liked  to  go  and  see  Holland,  some  for  the  sake  of  the 
money.  Only  one  man  was  honest,  and  endeavoured  to  dissuade 
them  from  putting  the  property  of  their  master  in  jeopardy  or 
cheating  him  out  of  the  higher  price.  However  they  did  not  listen 
to  him  and  forgot  his  words,  while  Michel  forgot  them  not.  So 
they  went  down  the  Rhine  with  the  timber,  and  Michel,  guiding 
the  float  soon  brought  them  to  Rotterdam.  Here  they  were  of- 
fered four  times  as  much  as  at  Cologne,  and  particularly  the  large 
beams  of  Michel  fetched  a  very  high  sum.  When  the  Schwarz- 
walders  beheld  the  money,  they  were  almost  beside  themselves  with 
joy.  Michel  divided  the  money,  putting  aside  one-fourth  for  their 
master,  and  distributing  the  other  three  among  the  men.  And  now 
they  went  into  the  public  houses  with  sailors  and  other  rabble, 
squandering  their  money  in  drinking  and  gambling;  while  the 
honest  fellow  who  had  dissuaded  them  was  sold  by  Michel  to  a 
slave-trader  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  From  that  time  for- 
ward Holland  was  a  paradise  to  the  fellows  from  the  Schwarzwald, 
and  the  Dutchman  Michel  their  king.  For  a  long  time  the  tim- 
ber merchants  were  ignorant  of  this  proceeding,  and  before  people 
were  aware,  money,  swearing,  corrupt  manners,  drunkenness  and 
gambling  were  imported  from  Holland. 

"  When  the  thing  became  known,  Michel  was  nowhere  to  be 
found,  but  he  was  not  dead ;  for  a  hundred  years  he  has  been  haunt- 
ing the  forest,  and  is  said  to  have  helped  many  in  becoming  rich  at 
the  cost  of  their  souls  of  course :  more  I  will  not  say.  This  much, 
however,  is  certain,  that  to  the  present  day,  in  boisterous  nights,  he 
finds  out  the  finest  pines  in  the  Tannenbiihl  where  people  are  not 
to  fell  wood;  and  my  father  has  seen  him  break  off  one  of  four  feet 
diameter,  as  he  would  break  a  reed.  Such  trees  he  gives  to  those 
who  turn  from  the  right  path  and  go  to  him;  at  midnight  they 
bring  their  rafts  to  the  water  and  he  goes  to  Holland  with  them. 
If  I  were  lord  and  king  in  Holland,  1  would  have  him  shot  with 
grape,  for  all  the  ships  that  have  but  a  single  beam  of  Michel's, 
must  go  to  the  bottom.  Hence  it  is  that  we  hear  of  so  many 


THE  COLD  HEART.  59 

shipwrecks;  and  if  it  were  not  so,  how  could  a  beautiful,  strong 
ship  as  large  as  a  church,  be  sunk.  But  as  often  as  Michel  fells 
a  pine  in  the  forest  during  a  boisterous  night,  one  of  his  old  ones 
starts  from  its  joints,  the  water  enters,  and  the  ship  is  lost,  men 
and  all.  So  far  goes  the  legend  of  the  Dutchman  Michel ;  and 
true  it  is  that  all  the  evil  in  the  Schwarzwald  dates  from  him. 
Oh !  he  can  make  one  rich,"  added  the  old  man  mysteriously;  "  but 
I  would  have  nothing  from  him;  I  would  at  no  price  be  in  the 
shoes  of  fat  Hesekiel  and  the  long  Schlurker.  The  king  of  the  ball- 
room, too,  is  said  to  have  made  himself  over  to  him." 

The  storm  had  abated  during  the  narrative  of  the  old  man ;  the 
girls  timidly  lighted  their  lamps  and  retired,  while  the  men  put  a 
sackful  of  leaves  upon  the  bench  by  the  stove  as  a  pillow  for  Peter 
Munk,  and  wished  him  good  night. 

Never  in  his  life  had  Peter  such  heavy  dreams  as  during  this 
night ;  sometimes  he  fancied  the  dark  gigantic  Michel  was  tearing 
the  window  open  and  reaching  in  with  his  monstrous  long  arm  a 
purse  full  of  gold  pieces,  which  jingled  clearly  and  loudly  as  he  shook 
them;  at  another  time  he  saw  the  little  friendly  glass-mannikin 
riding  upon  a  huge  green  bottle  about  the  room,  and  thought  he 
heard  again  the  same  hoarse  laughter  as  in  the  Tannenbiihl ;  again 
something  hummed  into  his  left  ear  the  following  verse : 

"  In  Holland  I  wot, 
There's  gold  to  be  got, 
Small  price  for  a  lot, 
Who  would  have  it  not?" 

Again  he  heard  in  his  right  ear  the  song  of  the  Schatzhauser  in 
the  green  forest,  and  a  soft  voice  whispered  to  him,  "  Stupid  Coal- 
Peter,  stupid  Peter  Munk  you  cannot  find  a  rhyme  with  '  place,' 
and  yet  are  born  on  a  Sunday  at  twelve  o'clock  precisely.  Rhyme, 
dull  Peter,  rhyme!" 

He  groaned,  he  wearied  himself  to  find  a  rhyme,  but  never  having 
made  one  in  his  life,  his  trouble  in  his  dream  was  fruitless.  When 
he  awoke  the  next  morning  with  the  first  dawn,  his  dream 
seemed  strange  to  him;  he  sat  down  at  the  table  with  his  arms 
crossed,  and  meditated  upon  the  whisperings  that  were  still  ringing 
in  his  ears.  He  said  to  himself,  "  Rhyme,  stupid  Peter,  rhyme," 
knocking  his  forehead  with  his  ringer,  but  no  rhyme  would  come. 
While  still  sitting  in  this  mood,  looking  gloomily  down  before  him 
and  thinking  of  a  rhyme  with  "  place,"  he  heard  three  men  passing 
outside  and  going  into  the  forest,  one  of  whom  was  singing, 

"I  stood  upon  the  brightest  place,' 
I  gazed  upon  the  plain, 
And  then— oh  then— I  saw  that  face, 
I  never  saw  again." 

These  words  flashed  like  lightning  through  Peter's  ear  and  has- 
tily starting  up,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house,  thinking  he  was  mis- 


60  THE  COLD  HEART. 

taken  in  what  lie  had  heard,  ran  after  the  three  fellows  and  seized, 
suddenly  and  rudely,  the  singer  by  the  arm,  crying  at  the  same  time, 
"  Stop,  friend,  what  was  it  you  rhymed  with  '  place?'  Do  me  the 
favour  to  tell  me  what  you  were  singing." 

"  What  possesses  you,  fellow?"  replied  the  Schwarzwalder.  "  I 
may  sing  what  I  like;  let  go  my  arm,  or " 

"  No,  you  shall  tell  me  what  you  were  singing,"  shouted  Peter, 
almost  beside  himself,  clutching  him  more  tightly  at  the  same  time. 
When  the  other  two  saw  this,  they  were  not  long  in  falling  foul  upon 
poor  Peter  with  their  large  fists,  and  belabouring  him  till  the  pain 
made  him  release  the  third,  and  he  sank  exhausted  upon  his  knees. 
"  Now  you  have  your  due,"  said  they,  laughing,  "  and  mark  you, 
madcap,  never  again  stop  people  like  us  upon  the  highway." 

"  Woe  is  me !"  replied  Peter  with  a  sigh,  "  I  shall  certainly  recollect 
it.  But  now  that  I  have  had  the  blows,  you  will  oblige  me  by  tell- 
ing me  plainly  what  he  was  singing."  To  this  they  laughed  again 
and  mocked  him ;  but  the  one  who  had  sung  repeated  the  song  to 
him,  after  which  they  went  away  laughing  and  singing. 

"  Face,"  then  said  the  poor  belaboured  Peter  as  he  got  up 
slowly;  "  will  rhyme  with  '  place,'  now  glass-mannikin,  I  will  have 
another  word  with  you."  He  went  into  the  hut,  took  his  hat  and 
long  stick,  bid  farewell  to  the  inmates,  and  commenced  his  way  back 
to  the  Tannenbiihl.  Being  under  the  necessity  of  inventing  a  verse, 
he  proceeded  slowtyand  thoughtfully  on  his  way;  at  length,  when 
he  was  already  within  the  precincts  of  the  Tannenbiihl,  and  the  trees 
became  higher  and  closer,  he  found  his  verse,  and  for  joy  cut  a 
caper  in  the  air.  All  at  once  he  saw  coming  from  behind  the  trees 
a  gigantic  man  dressed  like  a  raftsman,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  pole 
as  large  as  the  mast  of  a  ship.  Peter  Munk's  knees  almost  gave 
way  under  him,  when  he  saw  him  slowly  striding  by  his  side, 
thinking  he  was  no  other  than  the  Dutchman  Michel.  Still  the 
terrible  figure  kept  silence,  and  Peter  cast  a  side  glance  at  him  from 
time  to  time.  He  was  full  a  head  taller  than  the  biggest  man  Peter 
had  even  seen ;  his  face  expressed  neither  youth  nor  old  age,  but 
was  full  of  furrows  and  wrinkles;  he  wore  a  jacket  of  linen,  and  the 
enormous  boots  being  drawn  above  his  leather  breeches,  were  well 
known  to  Peter  from  hearsay. 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  the  Tannenbiihl,  Peter  Munk?"  asked 
the  wood  king  at  length,  in  a  deep,  roaring  voice. 

"  Good  morning,  countryman,"  replied  Peter,  wishing  to  show 
himself  undaunted,  but  trembling  violently  all  the  while. 

"  Peter  Munk,"  replied  Michel,  casting  a  piercing,  terrible  glance 
at  him,  "  your  way  does  not  lie  through  this  grove." 

"  True,  it  does  not  exactly,"  said  Peter;  "  but  being  a  hot  day,  I 
thought  it  would  be  cooler  here." 

"  Do  not  lie,  Peter,"  cried  Michel,  in  a  thundering  voice,  "or 
I  strike  you  to  the  ground  with  this  pole ;  think  you  I  have  not  seen 


THE  COLD  HEART.  61 

you  begging  of  the  little  one?"  lie  added  mildly.  "  Come,  come, 
confess  it  was  a  silly  trick,  and  it  is  well  you  did  not  know  the 
verse;  for  the  little  fellow  is  a  skinflint,  giving  but  little;  and 
he  to  whom  he  gives  is  never  again  cheerful  in  his  life.  Peter, 
you  are  but  a  poor  fool  and  I  pity  you  in  my  soul;  you,  such  a 
brisk  handsome  fellow,  surely  could  do  something  better  in  the  world, 
than  make  charcoal.  While  others  lavish  big  thalers  and  ducats, 
you  can  scarcely  spend  a  few  pence ;  'tis  a  wretched  life." 

"  You  are  right,  it  is  truly  a  wretched  life." 

"  Well,"  continued  Michel,  "I will  not  stand  upon  trifles,  you 
would  not  be  the  first  honest  good  fellow  whom  I  have  assisted  at  a 
pinch.  Tell  me,  how  many  hundred  thalers  do  you  want  for  the 
present?"  shaking  the  money  in  his  huge  pocket,  as  he  said  this, 
so  that  it  jingled  just  as  Peter  had  heard  it  in  his  dream. 
But  Peter's  heart  felt  a  kind  of  painful  convulsion  at  these  words, 
and  he  was  cold  and  hot  alternately;  for  Michel  did  not  look  as  if 
he  would  give  away  money  out  of  charity,  without  asking  any 
thing  in  return.  The  old  man's  mysterious  words  about  rich  people 
occurred  to  him,  and  urged  by  an  inexplicable  anxiety  and  fear,  he 
cried  "  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  but  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you  and  know  you  well,"  and  at  the  same  time  he  began  to 
run  as  fast  as  he  could.  The  wood  spirit,  however,  strode  by  his 
side  with  immense  steps,  murmuring  and  threatening  "  You  will 
yet  repent  it,  Peter,  it  is  written  on  your  forehead  and  to  be  read 
in  your  eyes  that  you  will  not  escape  me.  Do  not  run  so  fast, 
listen  only  to  a  single  rational  word ;  there  is  my  boundary  already." 
But  Peter,  hearing  this  and  seeing  at  a  little  distance  before  him  a 
small  ditch,  hastened  the  more  to  pass  this  boundary,  so  that 
Michel  was  obliged  at  length  to  run  faster,  cursing  and  threaten- 
ing while  pursuing  him.  With  a  desperate  leap  Peter  cleared  the 
ditch,  for  he  saw  that  the  Wood-spirit  was  raising  his  pole  to  dash  it 
upon  him;  having  fortunately  reached  the  other  side,  he  heard  the 
pole  shatter  to  pieces  in  the  air  as  if  against  an  invisible  wall,  and 
a  long  piece  fell  down  at  his  feet. 

He  picked  it  up  in  triumph  to  throw  it  at  the  rude  Michel;  but 
in  an  instant  he  felt  the  piece  of  wood  move  in  his  hand,  and,  to 
his  horror,  perceived  that  he  held  an  enormous  serpent,  which  was 
raising  itself  up  towards  his  face  with  its  venomous  tongue  and  glis- 
tening eyes.  He  let  go  his  hold,  but  it  had  already  twisted  itself 
tight  round  his  arm  and  came  still  closer  to  his  face  with  its  vi- 
brating head ;  at  this  instant,  however,  an  immense  black  cock 
rushed  down,  seized  the  head  of  the  serpent  with  its  beak,  and  car- 
ried it  up  in  the  air.  Michel,  who  had  observed  all  this  from  the 
other  side  of  the  ditch,  howled,  cried,  and  raved  when  he  saw  the 
serpent  carried  away  by  one  more  powerful  than  himself. 

Exhausted  and  trembling,  Peter  continued  his  way ;  the  path 
became  steeper,  the  country  wilder,  and  soon  he  found  himself 


62  THE  COLD  HEART. 

"before  the  large  pine.     He  again  made  a  bow  to  the  invisible  glass- 
mannikin,  as  he  had  done  the  day  before,  and  said, 

"  Keeper  of  wealth  in  the  forest  of  pine, 
Hundreds'of  years  are  surely  thine, 
Thine  is  the  tall  pine's  dwelling  place, 
Those  born  on  Sunday  see  thy  face." 

"  You  have  not  quite  hit  it,"  said  a  delicate  fine  voice  near  him, 
11  but  as  it  is  you,  Peter,  I  will  not  be  particular."  Astonished  he 
looked  round,  and  lo !  under  a  beautiful  pine  there  sat  a  little  old 
man  in  a  black  jacket,  red  stockings,  and  a  large  hat  on  his  head. 
He  had  a  tiny  affable  face  and  a  little  beard  as  fine  as  a  spider's 
web ;  and  strange  to  see,  he  was  smoking  a  pipe  of  blue  glass.  Nay, 
Peter  observed  to  his  astonishment,  on  coming  nearer,  that  the 
clothes,  shoes,  and  hat  of  the  little  man  were  also  of  coloured  glass, 
which  was  as  flexible  as  if  it  were  still  hot,  bending  like  cloth  to 
every  motion  of  the  little  man. 

"  You  have  met  the  lubber  Michel,  the  Dutchman?"  asked  the 
little  man,  laughing  strangely  between  each  word.  "  He  wished  to 
frighten  you  terribly ;  but  I  have  got  his  magic  cudgel,  which  he 
shall  never  have  again." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Schatzhauser,"  replied  Peter,  with  a  profound  bow, 
"  I  was  terribly  frightened.  But  I  suppose  the  black  cock  was 
yourself,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  killing  the  serpent. 
The  object  of  my  visit  to  you,  however,  is  to  ask  your  advice;  I 
am  in  very  poor  circumstances,  for  charcoal-burning  is  not  a  pro- 
fitable trade;  and  being  still  young  I  should  think  I  might  be 
made  something  better,  seeing  so  often  as  I  do  how  other  people 
have  thriven  in  a  short  time ;  I  need  only  mention  Hezekiel,  and 
the  king  of  the  ball-room,  who  have  money  like  dirt." 

"  Peter,"  said  the  little  man,  gravely,  blowing  the  smoke  of  his 

;ipe  a  long  way  off,  "  don't  talk  to  me  of  these  men.  What  good 
ave  they  from  being  apparently  happy  for  a  few  years  here,  and 
the  more  unhappy  for  it  afterwards?  you  must  not  despise  your 
trade ;  your  father  and  grandfather  were  honest  people,  Peter  Munk, 
and  they  carried  on  the  same  trade.  Let  me  not  suppose  it  is  love 
of  idleness  that  brings  you  to  me." 

Peter  was  startled  at  the  gravity  of  the  little  man,  and  blushed. 
"  No,  Mr.  Schatzhauser,"  said  he;  "idleness  is  the  root  of  every 
vice,  but  you  cannot  blame  me,  if  another  condition  pleases  me 
better  than  my  own.  A  charcoal-burner  is,  in  truth,  a  very  mean 
personage  in  this  world;  the  glass  manufacturer,  the  raftsmen,  and 
clock-makers,  are  people  much  more  looked  upon." 

"  Pride  will  have  a  fall,"  answered  the  little  man  of  the  pine 
wood,  rather  more  kindly.  "  What  a  singular  race  you  are,  you  men ! 
It  is  but  rarely  that  one  is  contented  with  the  condition  in  which  he 
was  born  and  bred,  and  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  if  you  were  a  glass- 
manufacturer,  you  would  wish  to  be  a  timber-merchant,  and  if  you 
were  a  timber-merchant  you  would  take  a  fancy  to  the  ranger's  place, 


THE  COLD  HEART.  63 

or  the  residence  of  the  bailiff.  But  no  matter  for  that ;  if  you  pro- 
mise to  work  hard,  I  will  get  you  something  better  to  do.  It  is  my 
practice  to  grant  three  wishes  to  those  born  on  a  Sunday,  who  know 
how  to  find  me  out.  The  first  two  are  quite  free  from  any  condition, 
the  third  I  may  refuse,  should  it  be  a  foolish  one.  Now,  therefore, 
Peter,  say  your  wishes;  but  mind  you  wish  something  good  and 
useful." 

"  Hurrah!"  shouted  Peter;  "  you  are  a  capital  glass-mannikin, 
and  justly  do  people  call  you  the  treasure-keeper,  for  treasures  seem 
to  be  plentiful  with  you.  Well  then,  since  I  may  wish  what  my 
heart  desires,  my  first  wish  is  that  I  may  be  able  to  dance  better 
than  the  king  of  the  ball-room,  and  to  have  always  as  much  money 
in  my  pocket  as  fat  Hezekiel." 

"  You  fool !"  replied  the  little  man,  angrily,  "  what  a  paltry  wish 
is  this,  to  be  able  to  dance  well  and  to  have  money  for  gambling. 
Are  you  not  ashamed  of  this  silly  wish,  you  blockish  Peter?  Would 
you  cheat  yourself  out  of  good  fortune  ?  What  good  will  you  and 
your  poor  mother  reap  from  your  dancing  well?  What  use  will  money 
be  to  you,  which  according  to  your  wish  is  only  for  the  public-house, 
thereto  be  spent  like  that  of  the  wretched  king  of  the  ball-room? 
And  then  you  will  have  nothing  for  the  whole  week  and  starve. 
Another  wish  is  now  left  free  to  you ;  but  have  a  care  to  desire  some- 
thing more  rational." 

Peter  scratched  himself  behind  his  ears,  and  said,  after  some 
hesitation,  "  Now  I  wish  the  finest  and  richest  glass-factory  in  the 
Schwarzwald,  with  every  thing  appertaining  to  it,  and  money  to 
carry  it  on." 

"  Is  that  all?"  asked  the  little  man,  with  a  look  of  anxiety;  "  is 
there  nothing  else,  Peter?" 

"  Why  you  might  add  a  horse  and  chaise." 

"  Oh,  you  stupid  Peter!"  cried  the  little  man,  while  he  flung  his 
glass  pipe  against  a  thick  pine  so  that  it  broke  in  a  hundred  pieces. 
"  Horses?  a  carriage?  Sense,  I  tell  you,  sense — common  sense  and 
judgment  you  ought  to  have  wished,  but  not  a  horse  and  chaise. 
Come,  come,  don't  be  so  sad,  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  make  it 
turn  out  for  the  best,  even  as  it  is,  for  the  second  wish  is  on  the 
whole  not  altogether  foolish.  A  good  glass-factory  will  support  its 
man;  but  you  ought  to  have  wished  judgment  and  sense  in  addi- 
tion; a  horse  and  chaise  would  come  as  a  matter  of  course." 

"  But,  Mr.  Schatzhauser,"  replied  Peter,  "  I  have  another  wish 
left,  and  might  very  well  wish  sense,  if  I  am  so  much  in  need  of  it, 
as  you  seem  to  think." 

"  Say  no  more  about  it.  You  will  get  involved  in  many  an  em- 
barrassment yet,  when  you  will  be  glad  of  being  at  liberty  to  obtain 
your  third  wish.  And  now  proceed  on  your  way  home."  Draw- 
ing a  small  bag  from  his  pocket,  he  said:  "  There  are  two  thousand 
florins ;  let  that  be  enough,  and  don't  come  again  asking  for  money, 
for,  if  you  do,  I  must  hang  you  up  to  the  highest  pine.  That  is 


64  THE  COLD  HEART. 

the  way  I  have  always  acted,  ever  since  I  have  lived  in  the  forest. 
Three  days  ago  old  Winkfritz  died,  who  had  a  large  glass-factory 
in  the  Unterwald.  Go  there  to-morrow  morning,  and  make  a  fair 
offer  for  it.  Look  well  to  yourself.  Be  prudent  and  be  indus- 
trious ;  I  will  come  to  see  you  from  time  to  time,  and  assist  you 
with  word  and  deed,  since  you  have  not  wished  for  common  sense. 
But  I  must  repeat  it  seriously ; ,  your  first  wish  was  evil.  Guard 
against  frequenting  the  public-house,  Peter,  no  one  who  did  so, 
ever  prospered  long."  The  little  man,  while  thus  talking  to  him, 
had  taken  a  new  pipe,  of  the  most  beautiful  glass,  from  his  pocket, 
charged  it  with  dry  fir-apples,  and  stuck  it  into  his  little  toothless 
mouth.  Then  drawing  out  a  large  burning-glass,  he  stepped  into 
the  sun  and  lighted  it.  When  he  had  done  this,  he  kindly  offered 
his  hand  to  Peter,  added  a  few  more  words  of  salutary  advice 
which  he  might  carry  on  his  way,  puffed  and  blew  still  faster,  and 
finally  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of  smoke,  which  smelled  of  genuine 
Dutch  canaster,  and,  slowly  curling  upwards,  vanished  amidst  the 
tops  of  the  pines. 

On  his  arrival  home,  Peter  found  his  mother  in  great  anxiety 
about  him,  for  the  good  dame  thought  in  reality  her  son  had 
been  drawn  among  the  recruits.  He,  however,  was  in  great  glee 
and  full  of  hope,  and  related  to  her  how  he  had  met  with  a 
good  friend  in  the  forest,  who  had  advanced  him  money  to  begin 
another  trade.  Although  his  mother  had  been  living  for  thirty 
years  in  a  charcoal-burner's  hut,  and  was  as  much  accustomed  to 
the  sight  of  sooty  people,  as  any  miller's  wife  is  to  the  floury  face 
of  her  husband;  yet,  as  soon  as  her  Peter  showed  her  a  more 
splendid  lot,  she  was  vain  enough  to  despise  her  former  condition, 
and  said:  "  In  truth,  as  the  mother  of  a  man  who  possesses  a  glass- 
manufactory,  I  shall  indeed  be  something  different  from  neighbour 
Kate  and  Betsy,  and  shall  in  future  sit  more  consequentially  at  church 
among  the  people  of  quality."  Her  son  soon  came  to  terms  with 
the  heir  of  the  glass  manufactory.  He  kept  the  workmen  he  found, 
and  made  them  work  day  and  night  at  manufacturing  glass.  At  first 
he  was  well  enough  pleased  with  his  new  trade ;  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  walking  leisurely  into  the  factory,  striding  up  and  down  with  an 
air  of  consequence  and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  now 
in  one  corner,  now  in  another,  and  talking  about  various  things  at 
which  his  workmen  often  used  to  laugh  heartily.  His  chief  delight, 
however,  was  to  see  the  glass  blown,  when  he  would  often  set  to 
work  himself,  and  form  the  strangest  figures  of  the  soft  mass.  But 
he  soon  took  a  dislike  to  the  work ;  first  came  only  for  an  hour  in 
the  day,  then  only  every  other  day,  and  finally  only  once  a  week, 
so  that  his  workmen  did  just  what  they  liked.  All  this  proceeded 
from  his  frequenting  the  public-house.  The  Sunday  after  he  had 
come  back  from  the  Tannenbiihl  he  went  to  the  public-house,  and 
who  should  be  jumping  there  already  but  the  king  of  the  ball-room; 
fat  Hezekiel  also  was  already  sitting  by  a  quart  pot,  playing  at  dice 


THE  COLD  HEART.  65 

for  crown-pieces.  Now  Peter  quickly  put  liis  hand  into  liis  pocket 
to  feel  whether  the  glass-mannikin  had  been  true  to  his  word,  and  lo  ! 
his  pockets  were  stuffed  full  of  silver  and  gold.  He  also  felt  an  itch- 
ing and  twitching  in  his  legs,  as  if  they  wished  to  dance  and  caper. 
When  the  first  dance  was  over,  he  took  his  place  with  his  partner  at 
the  top  next  to  the  "  king  of  the  ball-room ;"  and  if  the  latter  jumped 
three  feet  high,  Peter  jumped  four;  if  he  made  fantastic  and  grace- 
ful steps,  Peter  twined  and  twisted  his  legs  in  such  a  manner  that 
all  the  spectators  were  utterly  amazed  with  delight  and  admira- 
tion. But  when  it  was  rumoured  in  the  dancing-room  that  Peter 
had  bought  a  glass  manufactory,  and  when  people  saw  that  Peter, 
as  often  as  he  passed  the  musicians,  threw  a  six-blitzncr  piece  to  them, 
there  was  no  end  of  astonishment.  Some  thought  he  had  found  a  trea- 
sure in  the  forest,  others  were  of  opinion  that  he  had  succeeded  to  some 
fortune,  but  all  respected  him  now,  and  considered  him  a  made  man, 
simply  because  he  had  plenty  of  money.  Indeed  that  very  evening 
he  lost  twenty  florins  at  play,  and  yet  his  pockets  jingled  and  tingled 
as  if  there  were  a  hundred  thalers  in  them. 

When  Peter  saw  how  much  respected  he  was,  he  could  no  longer 
contain  himself  with  joy  and  pride.  He  threw  away  handfuls  of 
money  and  distributed  it  profusely  among  the  poor,  knowing  full 
well  as  he  did  how  poverty  had  formerly  pinched  him.  The  feats  of 
the  king  of  the  ball-room  were  completely  eclipsed  by  those  of  the 
new  dancer,  and  Peter  was  surnamed  the  "  emperor  of  the  ball-room." 
The  most  daring  gamblers  did  not  stake  so  much  as  he  did  on  a  Sun- 
day, neither  did  they,  however,  lose  so  much;  but  then,  the  more 
he  lost,  the  more  he  won.  This  was  exactly  what  he  had  demanded 
from  the  glass-mannikin ;  for  he  had  wished  he  might  always  have 
as  much  money  in  his  pocket  as  fat  Hezekiel^  and  it  was  to  this 
very  man  he  lost  his  money.  If  he  lost  twenty  or  thirty  florins  at 
a  stroke,  they  were  immediately  replaced  in  his  own  pocket,  as  soon 
as  Hezekiel  pocketed  them.  By  degrees  he  carried  his  revelling  and 
gambling  further  than  the  worst  fellows  in  the  Schwarzwald,  and  he 
was  oftener  called  "  gambling  Peter"  than  "  emperor  of  the  ball-room," 
since  he  now  gambled  almost  all  the  week  days.  In  consequence 
of  his  imprudence,  his  glass  manufactory  gradually  fell  off.  He  had 
manufactured  as  much  as  ever  could  be  made,  but  he  had  failed  to 
purchase,  together  with  the  factory,  the  secret  of  disposing  of  it  most 
profitably.  At  length  it  accumulated  to  such  a  degree  that  he  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  sold  it  for  half-price  to  itinerant 
dealers  in  order  to  pay  his  workmen. 

Walking  homewards  one  evening  from  the  public  house,  he  could 
not,  in  spite  of  the  quantity  of  wine  he  had  drunk  to  make  him- 
self merry,  help  thinking  with  terror  and  grief  of  the  decline  of  his 
fortune.  While  engaged  in  these  reflections,  he  all  at  once  per- 
ceived some  one  walking  by  his  side.  He  looked  round,  and  behold 
it  was  the  glass-mannikin.  At  the  sight  of  him  he  fell  into  a  violent 
passion,  protested  solemnly,  and  swore  that  the  little  man  was  the 

P 


66  THE  COLD  HEART. 

cause  of  all  his  misfortune.  "  What  am  I  now  to  do  with  the 
horse  and  chaise?"  he  cried;  "  of  what  use  is  the  manufactory  and  all 
the  glass  to  me?  Even  when  I  was  merely  a  wretched  charcoal- 
burner,  I  lived  more  happily,  and  had  no  cares.  Now  I  know  not 
when  the  bailiff  may  come  to  value  my  goods  and  chattels,  and  seize 
all  for  debt." 

"  Indeed?"  replied  the  glass-mannikin,  " indeed?  I  am  then 
the  cause  of  your  being  unfortunate.  Is  that  your  gratitude  for  my 
benefits?  Who  bade  you  wish  so  foolishly?  A  glass-manufac- 
turer you  wished  to  be,  and  you  did  not  know  where  to  sell  your 
glass!  Did  I  not  tell  you  to  be  cautious  in  what  you  wished? 
Common  sense,  Peter,  and  prudence,  you  wanted." 

"  A  fig  for  your  sense  and  prudence,"  cried  Peter;  "  I  am  as 
shrewd  a  fellow  as  any  one,  and  will  prove  it  to  you,  glass-man- 
nikin," seizing  him  rudely  by  the  collar  as  he  spoke  these  words,  and 
crying,  "  have  I  now  got  you,  Schatzhauser?  Now  I  will  tell  you 
my  third  wish,  which  you  shall  grant  me.  I'll  have  instantly,  on 
the  spot,  two  hundred  thousand  hard  thalers  and  a  house.  Woe  is 
me  P'  he  cried,  suddenly  shaking  his  hand,  for  the  little  man  of  the 
wood  had  changed  himself  into  red-hot  glass,  and  burned  in  his 
hand  like  bright  fire.  Nothing  more  was  to  be  seen  of  him. 

For  several  days  his  swollen  hand  reminded  him  of  his  ingratitude 
and  folly.  Soon,  however,  he  silenced  his  conscience,  saying: 
"  Should  they  sell  my  glass,  manufactory  and  all,  still  fat  Hezekiel 
is  certain  to  me  ;  and  as  long  as  he  has  money  on  a  Sunday,  I 
cannot  want." 

"Very  true,  Peter!  But,  if  he  has  none?"  And  so  it  hap- 
pened one  day,  and  it  proved  a  singular  example  in  arithmetic. 
For  he  came  one  Sunday  in  his  chaise  to  the  inn,  and  at  once  all 
the  people  popped  their  heads  out  of  the  windows,  one  saying, 
"  There  comes  gambling  Peter;"  a  second  saying,  "  Yes,  there  is 
the  emperor  of  the  ball-room,  the  wealthy  glass-manufacturer;"  while 
a  third  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  It  is  all  very  well  with  his  wealth, 
but  people  talk  a  great  deal  about  his  debts,  and  somebody  in  town 
has  said  that  the  bailiff  will  not  wait  much  longer  before  he  distrains 
upon  him." 

At  this  moment  the  wealthy  Peter  saluted  the  guests  at  the  win- 
dows, in  a  haughty  and  grave  manner,  descended  from  his  chaise, 
and  cried:  "  Good  evening,  mine  Host  of  the  Sun.  Is  fat  Heze- 
kiel here?" 

To  this  question  a  deep  voice  answered  from  within:  "  Only 
come  in,  Peter;  your  place  is  kept  for  you,  we  are  all  herq  at  the 
cards  already." 

Peter  entering  the  parlour,  immediately  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  and  perceived,  by  its  being  quite  full,  that  Hezekiel  must 
be  plentifully  supplied.  He  sat  down  at  the  table  among  the  others 
and  played,  losing  and  winning  alternately;  thus  they  kept  playing 
till  night,  when  all  sober  people  went  home.  After  having  continued 


THE  COLD  HEART.  67 

for  some  time  by  candle-light,  two  of  tlie  gamblers  said:  "Now  it  is 
enough,  and  we  must  go  home  to  our  wives  and  children." 

But  Peter  challenged  Hezekiel  to  remain.  The  latter  was  un- 
willing, but  said,  after  a  while,  "  Be  it  as  you  wish;  I  will  count 
my  money,  and  then  we'll  play  dice  at  five  florins  the  stake,  for 
any  thing  lower  is,  after  all,  but  child's  play."  He  drew  his  purse, 
and,  after  counting,  found  he  had  a  hundred  florins  left;  now  Peter 
knew  how  much  he  himself  had  left,  without  counting  first.  But  if 
Hezekiel  had  before  won,  he  now  lost  stake  after  stake,  and  swore 
most  awfully.  If  he  cast  a  pasch,  Peter  immediately  cast  one  like- 
wise, and  always  two  points  higher.  At  length  he  put  down  thb 
last  five  florins  on  the  table,  saying,  "  Once  more;  and  if  I  lose  this 
stake  also,  yet  I  will  not  leave  off;  you  will  then  lend  me  some  of  the 
money  you  have  won  now.  Peter ;  one  honest  fellow  helps  the  other." 

"  As  much  as  you  like,  even  if  it  were  a  hundred  florins,"  replied 
Peter,  joyful  at  his  gain,  and  fat  Hezekiel  rattled  the  dice  and  threw 
up  fifteen ;  "  Pasch  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  now  we'll  see  !"  But  Peter 
threw  up  eighteen,  and,  at  this  moment,  a  hoarse,  well-known  voice 
said  behind  him,  "  So !  that  was  the  last." 

He  looked  round,  and  behind  him  stood  the  gigantic  figure  of 
Michel  the  Dutchman.  Terrified,  he  dropped  the  money  he  had 
already  taken  up.  But  fat  Hezekiel,  not  seeing  Michel,  demanded 
that  Peter  should  advance  him  ten  florins  for  playing.  As  if  in  a 
dream  Peter  hastily  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  but  there  was  no 
money ;  he  searched  in  the  other  pocket,  but  in  vain ;  he  turned  his 
coat  inside  out,  not  a  farthing,  however,  fell  out ;  and  at  this  instant 
he  first  recollected  his  first  wish;  viz.,  to  have  always  as  much  money 
in  his  pocket  as  fat  Hezekiel.  All  had  now  vanished  like  smoke. 

The  host  and  Hezekiel  looked  at  him  with  astonishment  as  he 
still  searched  for  and  could  not  find  his  money ;  they  would  not  be- 
lieve that  he  had  no  more  left ;  but  when  they  at  length  searched 
his  pockets,  without  finding  any  thing,  they  were  enraged,  swearing 
that  gambling  Peter  was  an  evil  wizard,  and  had  wished  away  all 
the  money  he  had  won  home  to  his  own  house.  Peter  defended 
himself  stoutly,  but  appearances  were  against  him.  Hezekiel  pro- 
tested he  would  tell  this  shocking  story  to  all  the  people  in  the 
Schwarzwald,  and  the  host  vowed  he  would,  the  following  morning 
early  go  into  the  town  and  inform  against  Peter  as  a  sorcerer,  adding 
that  he  had  no  doubt  of  his  being  burnt  alive.  Upon  this  they  fell 
furiously  upon  him,  tore  off  his  coat,  and  kicked  him  out  of  doors. 

Not  one  star  was  twinkling  in  the  sky  to  lighten  Peter's  way  as 
he  sneaked  sadly  towards  his  home,  but  still  he  could  distinctly  re- 
cognise a  dark  form  striding  by  his  side,  which  at  length  said,  "  It  is 
all  over  with  you,  Peter  Munk;  all  your  splendour  is  at  an  end,  and  this 
I  could  have  foretold  you  even  at  the  time  when  you  would  not  listen 
to  me,  but  rather  ran  to  the  silly  glass  dwarf.  You  now  see  to  what 
you  have  come  by  disregarding  my  advice.  But  try  your  fortune 
•with  me  this  time,  I  have  compassion  on  your  fate.  No  one  ever 

F  2 


68  THE  COLD  HEART. 

yet  repented  of  applying  to  me,  and  if  you  don't  mind  the  walk  to 
the  Tannenbiihl,  I  shall  be  there  all  day  to-morrow  and  you  may 
speak  to  me,  if  you  will  call."  Peter  now  very  clearly  perceived 
who  was  speaking  to  him,  but  feeling  a  sensation  of  awe,  he  made 
no  answer  and  ran  towards  home. 

When,  on  the  Monday  morning,  he  came  to  his  factory,  he  not 
only  found  his  workmen,  but  also  other  people  whom  no  one  likes  to 
see;  viz.,  the  bailiff  and  three  beadles.  The  bailiff  wished  Peter  good 
morning,  asked  him  how  he  had  slept,  and  then  took  from  his 
pocket  a  long  list  of  Peter's  creditors,  saying,  with  a  stern  look, 
"  Can  you  pay  or  not  ?  Be  short,  for  I  have  no  time  to  lose,  and  you 
know  it  is  full  three  leagues  to  the  prison."  Peter  in  despair  con- 
fessed he  had  nothing  left,  telling  the  bailiff  he  might  value  all  the 
premises,  horses,  and  carts.  But  while  they  went  about  examining 
and  valuing  the  things,  Peter  said  to  himself,  "  Well,  it  is  but  a  short 
way  to  the  Tannenbiihl,  and  as  the  little  man  has  not  helped  me,  I 
will  now  try  for  once  the  big  man."  He  ran  towards  the  Tannenbiihl 
as  fast  as  if  the  beadles  were  at  his  heels.  On  passing  the  spot  where 
the  glass-mannikin  had  first  spoken  to  him,  he  felt  as  if  an  invisible 
hand  were  stopping  him,  but  he  tore  himself  away  and  ran  onwards 
till  he  came  to  the  boundary  which  he  had  well  marked.  Scarcely 
had  he,  almost  out  of  breath,  called,  "  Dutch  Michel,  Mr.  Dutch 
Michel !"  than  suddenly  the  gigantic  raftsman  with  his  pole  stood 
before  him. 

"  Have  you  come  then?"  said  the  latter,  laughing.  "  Were  they 
going  to  fleece  you  and  sell  you  to  your  creditors  ?  Well,  be  easy,  all 
your  sorrow  comes,  as  I  have  always  said,  from  the  little  glass-man- 
nikin. the  Separatist  and  Pietist.  When  one  gives,  one  ought  to 
give  right  plentifully  and  not  like  that  skinflint.  But  come,"  he 
continued,  turning  towards  the  forest,  "  follow  me  to  my  house,  there 
we'll  see  whether  we  can  strike  a  bargain." 

"  Strike  a  bargain  ?"  thought  Peter.  "  What  can  he  want  of  me, 
what  can  I  sell  to  him  ?  Am  I  perhaps  to  serve  him,  or  what  is  it 
that  he  can  want  ?"  They  went  at  first  up-hill  over  a  steep  forest 
path,  when  all  at  once  they  stopped  at  a  dark,  deep,  and  almost 
perpendicular  ravine.  Michel  leaped  down  as  easily  as  he  would  go 
down  marble  steps  ;  but  Peter  almost  fell  into  a  fit  when  he  saw  him 
below,  rising  up  like  a  church  steeple  reaching  him  an  arm  as  long 
as  a  scaffolding  pole  with  a  hand  at  the  end  as  broad  as  the  table  in 
the  ale  house,  and  calling  in  a  voice  which  sounded  like  the  deep 
tones  of  a  death  bell,  "  Set  yourself  boldly  on  my  hand,  hold  fast  by 
the  fingers  and  you  will  not  fall  off."  Peter,  trembling,  did  as  he 
was  ordered,  sat  down  upon  his  hand  and  held  himself  fast  by  the 
thumb  of  the  giant. 

They  now  went  down  a  long  way  and  very  deep,  yet,  to  Peter's 
astonishment,  it  did  not  grow  darker;  on  the  contrary,  the  daylight 
seemed  rather  to  increase  in  the  chasm,  and  it  was  sometime  before 
Peter's  eyes  could  bear  it.  Michel's  stature  became  smaller  as  Peter 


THE  COLD  HEART.  69 

came  lower  down,  and  lie  stood  now  in  his  former  size  before  a  house 
just  like  those  of  the  wealthy  peasants  of  the  Schwarzwald.  The 
room  into  which  Peter  was  led  differed  in  nothing  but  its  appearance 
of  solitariness  from  those  of  other  people.  The  wooden  clock,  the 
stove  of  Dutch  tiles,  the  broad  benches  and  utensils  on  the  shelves 
were  the  same  as  anywhere  else.  Michel  told  him  to  sit  down  at 
the  large  table,  then  went  out  of  the  room  and  returned  with  a 
pitcher  of  wine  and  glasses.  Having  filled  these,  they  now  be- 
gan a  conversation,  and  Dutch  Michel  expatiated  on  the  pleasures 
of  the  world,  talked  of  foreign  countries,  fine  cities  and  rivers,  so 
that  Peter,  at  length,  feeling  a  yearning  after  such  sights,  candidly 
told  Michel  his  wish. 

"  If  you  had  courage  and  strength  in  your  body  to  undertake 
any  thing,  could  a  few  palpitations  of  your  stupid  heart  make  you 
tremble  ;  and  the  offences  against  honor,  or  misfortunes,  why  should 
a  rational  fellow  care,  for  either  ?  Did  you  feel  it  in  your  head  when 
they  but  lately  called  you  a  cheat  and  a  scoundrel  ?  Or  did  it  give 
you  a  pain  in  your  stomach,  when  the  bailiff  came  to  eject  you  from 
your  house  ?  Tell  me,  where  was  it  you  felt  pain  ?" 

'4  In  my  heart,53  replied  Peter,  putting  his  hand  on  his  beating 
breast,  for  he  felt  as  if  his  heart  was  anxiously  turning  within  him. 

"  Excuse  me  for  saying  so,  but  you  have  thrown  away  many  hun- 
dred florins  on  vile  beggars  and  other  rabble ;  what  has  it  profited 
you  ?  They  have  wished  you  blessings  and  health  for  it ;  well,  have 
you  grown  the  healthier  for  that?  For  half  that  money  you  might 
have  kept  a  physician.  A  blessing,  a  fine  blessing  forsooth,  when 
one  is  distrained  upon  and  ejected !  And  what  was  it  that  urged  you 
to  put  your  hand  into  your  pocket,  as  often  as  a  beggar  held  out  his 
broken  hat? — Why  your  heart  again,  and  ever  your  heart,  neither 
your  eyes,  nor  your  tongue,  nor  your  arms,  nor  your  legs,  but  your 
heart  ;  you  have,  as  the  proverb  truly  says,  taken  too  much  to 
heart." 

"  But  how  can  we  accustom  ourselves  to  act  otherwise  ?  I  take,  at 
this  moment,  every  possible  pains  to  suppress  it,  and  yet  my  heart 
palpitates  and  pains  me." 

"You,  indeed,  poor  fellow!"  cried  Michel,  laughing;  "you  can 
do  nothing  against  it ;  but  give  me  this  scarcely  palpitating  thing, 
and  you  will  see  how  comfortable  you  will  then  feel." 

"  My  heart  to  you?"  cried  Peter,  horrified.  "  Why,  then,  I  must 
die  on  the  spot !  Never !" 

"  Yes,  if  one  of  your  surgeons  would  operate  upon  you  and  take 
out  your  heart,  you  must  indeed  die ;  but  with  me  it  is  a  different 
thing;  just  come  in  here  and  convince  yourself." 

Rising  at  these  words,  he  opened  the  door  of  a  chamber  and  took 
Peter  in.  On  stepping  over  the  threshold,  his  heart  contracted  con- 
vulsively, but  he  minded  it  not,  for  the  sight  that  presented  itself  was 
singular  and  surprising.  On  several  shelves  glasses  were  standing, 
filled  with  a  transparent  liquid,  and  each  contained  a  heart.  All 


70  THE  COLD  HEART. 

were  labelled  with  names  which  Peter  read  with  curiosity;  there 
was  the  heart  of  the  bailiff  in  F.,  that  of  fat  Hezekiel,  that  of  the 
1  'king  of  the  ball-room,"  that  of  the  ranger;  there  were  the  hearts  of 
six  usurious  corn-merchants,  of  eight  recruiting  officers,  of  three 
money-brokers ;  in  short,  it  was  a  collection  of  the  most  respectable 
hearts  twenty  leagues  around. 

"Look!"  said  "Dutch  Michel,  "all  these  have  shaken  off  the 
anxieties  and  cares  of  life;  none  of  these  hearts  any  longer  beat 
anxiously  and  uneasily,  and  their  former  owners  feel  happy  now  they 
have  got  rid  of  the  troublesome  guest." 

"  But  what  do  they  now  carry  in  their  breasts  instead?"  asked 
Peter,  whose  head  was  nearly  swimming  at  what  he  beheld. 

"  This"  replied  he,  taking  out  of  a  small  drawer,  and  presenting 
to  him — a  heart  of  stone. 

"  Indeed!"  said  Peter,  who  could  not  prevent  a  cold  shuddering 
coming  over  him.  "A  heart  of  marble?  But,  tell  me,  Mr.  Michel, 
such  a  heart  must  be  very  cold  in  one's  breast. 

"  True,  but  very  agreeably  cool.  Why  should  a  heart  be  warm? 
For  in  winter  its  warmth  is  of  little  use,  and  good  strong  Kirsch- 
wasser  does  more  than  a  warm  heart,  and  in  summer  when  all  is 
hot  and  sultry,  you  can't  think  how  cooling  such  a  heart  is.  And, 
as  before  said,  such  a  heart  feels  neither  anxiety  nor  terror,  neither 
foolish  compassion  nor  other  grief." 

"  And  that  is  all  you  can  offer  me,"  asked  Peter,  indignantly, 
"  I  looked  for  money  and  you  are  going  to  give  me  a  stone." 

"Well!  an  hundred  thousand  florins,  methinks,  would  suffice  you 
for  the  present.  If  you  employ  it  properly,  you  may  soon  make  it 
a  million." 

"An  hundred  thousand !"  exclaimed  the  poor  coal-burner,  joy- 
fully. "  Well,  don't  beat  so  vehemently  in  my  bosom,  we  shall 
soon  have  done  with  one  another.  Agreed,  Michel,  give  me  the 
stone,  and  the  money,  and  the  alarum  you  may  take  out  of  its  case." 

"I  always  thought  you  were  a  reasonable  fellow,"  replied  Michel, 
with  a  friendly  smile;  "  come,  let  us  drink  another  glass,  and  then  I 
will  pay  you  the  money." 

They  went  back  to  the  room  and  sat  down  again  to  the  wine, 
drinking  one  glass  after  another  till  Peter  fell  into  a  profound  sleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  cheerful  blast  of  a  post-boy's  bugle, 
and  found  himself  sitting  in  a  handsome  carriage,  driving  along  on 
a  wide  road.  On  putting  his  head  out  he  saw  in  the  airy  distance 
the  Schwarzwald  lying  behind  him.  At  first  he  could  scarcely  be- 
lieve that  it  was  his  own  self  sitting  in  the  carriage,  for  even  his 
clothes  were  different  from  those  he  had  worn  the  day  before ;  but 
still  he  had  such  a  distinct  recollection  that,  giving  up  at  length  all 
these  reflections,  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  Peter  and  no  other,  that  is 
certain  " 

He  was  astonished  that  he  could  no  longer,  in  the  slightest  degree, 
feel  melancholy  now  he  for  the  first  time  departed  from  his  quiet 


THE  COLD  HEART.  71 

liomc  and  tlie  forests  where  he  had  lived  so  long.  He  could  not 
even  press  a  tear  out  of  his  eyes  or  utter  a  sigh,  when  he  thought  of 
his  mother,  who  must  now  feel  helpless  and  wretched;  for  he  was 
indifferent  to  every  thing:  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  tears  and  sighs,  yearn- 
ing for  home  and  sadness  proceed  indeed  from  the  heart,  but  thanks 
to  Dutch  Michel,  mine  is  of  stone  and  cold."  Putting  his  hand  upon 
his  breast,  he  felt  all  quiet  and  no  emotion.  "If  Michel,"  said  he,  be- 
ginning to  search  the  carriage,  "  keeps  his  word  as  well  with  respect 
to  the  hundred  thousand  florins  as  lie  does  with  the  heart,  I  shall 
be  very  glad."  In  his  search  he  found  articles  of  dress  of  every  de- 
scription he  could  A\ish,  but  no  money.  At  length,  however,  he 
discovered  a  pocket  containing  many  thousand  thalers  in  gold,  and 
bills  on  large  houses  in  all  the  great  cities.  "  Now  I  have  what  I 
want,"  thought  he,  squeezed  himself  into  the  corner  of  the  carnage 
and  went  into  the  wide  world. 

For  two  years  he  travelled  about  in  the  world,  looked  from  his 
carriage  to  the  right  and  left  up  the  houses,  but  whenever  he  alighted 
he  looked  at  nothing  except  the  sign  of  the  hotel,  and  then  ran  about 
the  town  to  see  the  finest  curiosities.  But  nothing  gladdened  him, 
no  pictures,  no  building,  no  music,  no  dancing,  nor  any  thing  else 
had  any  interest  for,  or  excited  his  stone  heart ;  his  eyes  and  ears  were 
blunted  for  every  thing  beautiful.  No  enjoyment  was  left  him  but 
that  which  he  felt  in  eating  and  drinking  and  sleep ;  and  thus  he 
lived  running  through  the  world  without  any  object,  eating  for 
amusement  and  sleeping  from  ennui.  From  time  to  time  he  indeed 
remembered  that  he  had  been  more  cheerful  and  happier,  when  he 
was  poor  and  obliged  to  work  for  a  livelihood.  Then  he  was  delighted 
by  every  beautiful  prospect  in  the  valley,  by  music  and  song,  then 
lie  had  for  hours  looked  in  joyful  expectation  towards  the  frugal 
meal  which  his  mother  was  to  bring  him  to  the  kiln. 

When  thus  reflecting  on  the  past,  it  seemed  very  strange  to  him, 
that  now  he  could  not  even  laugh,  while  formerly  he  had  laughed  at 
the  slightest  joke.  When  others  laughed,  he  only  distorted  his 
mouth  out  of  politeness,  but  his  heart  did  not  sympathise  with  the  smile. 
He  felt  he  was  indeed  exceedingly  tranquil,  but  yet  not  contented. 
It  was  not  a  yearning  after  home,  nor  was  it  sadness,  but  a  void, 
desolate  feeling,  satiety  and  a  joyless  life  that  at  last  urged  him  to 
ids  home. 

When,  after  leaving  Strasburg,  he  beheld  the  dark  forest  of  his 
native  country;  when  for  the  first  time  he  again  saw  the  robust 
figures,  the  friendly  and  open  countenances  of  the  Schwarzwalder; 
when  the  homely,  strong,  and  deep,  but  harmonious  sounds 
struck  upon  his  ear,  he  quickly  put  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  for  his 
blood  flowed  faster,  thinking  he  must  rejoice  and  weep  at  the  same 
time;  but  how  could  he  be  so  foolish?  he  had  a  heart  of  stone,  and 
stones  are  dead  and  can  neither  smile  nor  weep. 

His  first  walk  was  to  Michel  who  received  him  with  his  former 
kindness.  "  Michel,"  said  he,  "  I  have  now  travelled  and  seen 


72  THE  COLD  HEART. 

every  thing,  but  all  is  dull  stuff  and  I  have  only  found  ennui.  The 
stone  I  carry  about  with  me  in  my  breast,  protects  me  against  many 
things;  I  never  get  angry,  am  never  sad,  but  neither  do  I  ever  feel 
joyful,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  was  only  half  alive.  Can  you  not  infuse 
a  little  more  life  into  my  stone  heart,  or  rather,  give  me  back  my 
former  heart?  During  five- and- twenty  years  I  had  become  quite 
accustomed  to  it,  and  though  it  sometimes  did  a  foolish  thing,  yet 
it  was,  after  all,  a  merry  and  cheerful  heart." 

The  sylvan  spirit  laughed  grimly  and  sarcastically  at  this,  an- 
swering, "  When  once  you  are  dead,  Peter  Munk,  it  shall  not  be 
withheld ;  then  you  shall  have  back  your  soft,  susceptible  heart,  and 
may  then  feel  whatever  comes,  whether  joy  or  sorrow.  But  here, 
on  this  side  of  the  grave,  it  can  never  be  yours  again.  Travelled 
you  have  indeed,  Peter,  but  in  the  way  you  lived,  your  travelling 
could  afford  you  no  satisfaction.  Settle  now  somewhere  in  the 
world,  build  a  house,  marry,  and  employ  your  capital;  you  wanted 
nothing  but  occupation;  being  idle,  you  felt  e?imd,  and  now  you 
lay  all  the  blame  to  this  innocent  heart."  Peter  saw  that  Michel 
was  right  with  respect  to  idleness,  and  therefore  proposed  to  him- 
self to  become  richer  and  richer.  Michel  gave  him  another  hun- 
dred thousand  florins,  and  they  parted  as  good  friends. 

The  report  soon  spread  in  Schwarzwald  that  "  Coal  Peter,"  or 
"gambling  Peter"  had  returned,  and  was  much  richer  than  before. 
It  was  here  as  it  always  is.  When  he  was  a  beggar  he  was  kicked 
out  of  the  inn,  but  now  he  had  come  back  wealthy,  all  shook  him 
by  the  hand  when  he  entered  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  praised  his 
horse,  asked  about  his  journey,  and  when  he  began  playing  for  hard 
dollars  with  fat  Hezekiel,  he  stood  as  high  in  their  estimation  as 
ever  before.  He  no  longer  followed  the  trade  of  glass  manufac- 
turer, but  the  timber  trade,  though  that  only  in  appearance,  his 
chief  business  being  in  corn  and  money  transactions.  Half  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Schwarzwald  became  by  degrees  his  debtors,  and  he  lent 
money  only  at  ten  per  cent.,  or  sold  corn  to  the  poor  who,  not  being 
able  to  pay  ready  money,  had  to  purchase  it  at  three  times  its  value. 
With  the  bailiff  he  now  stood  on  a  footing  of  the  closest  friendship, 
and  if  any  one  failed  paying  Mr.  Peter  Munk  on  the  very  day  the 
money  was  due,  the  bailiff  with  his  beadles  came,  valued  house  and 
property,  sold  all  instantly,  and  drove  father,  mother,  and  child,  out 
into  the  forest.  This  became  at  first  rather  troublesome  to  Peter, 
for  the  poor  outcasts  besieged  his  doors  in  troops,  the  men 
imploring  indulgence,  the  women  trying  to  move  his  stony  heart, 
and  the  children  moaning  for  a  piece  of  bread.  But  getting  a 
couple  of  large  mastiffs,  he  soon  put  an  end  to  this  cat's  music,  a9 
he  used  to  call  it,  for  he  whistled  and  set  them  on  the  beggars,  who 
dispersed  screaming.  But  the  most  troublesome  person  to  him  was 
"  the  old  woman,"  who,  however,  was  no  other  than  Frau  Munk, 
Peter's  mother.  She  had  been  reduced  to  great  poverty  and  dis- 
tress, when  her  house  and  all  was  sold,  and  her  son,  on  returning 


THE  COLD  HEART.  73 

wealthy,  had  troubled  himself  no  more  about  her.  So  she  came 
sometimes  before  his  house,  supporting  herself  on  a  stick,  as  she  was 
aged,  weak,  and  infirm;  but  she  no  more  ventured  to  go  in,  as  he 
had  on  one  occasion  driven  her  out;  and  she  was  much  grieved  at 
being  obliged  to  prolong  her  existence  by  the  bounties  of  other 
people,  while  her  own  son  might  have  prepared  for  her  a  comfort- 
able old  age.  But  his  cold  heart  never  was  moved  by  the  sight  of 
the  pale  face  and  well  known  features,  by  the  imploring  looks,  out- 
stretched withered  hands  and  decaying  frame.  If  on  a  Saturday 
she  knocked  at  the  door,  he  put  his  hand  grumbling  into  his 
pocket  for  a  six-batzen-piece,  wrapped  it  in  a  bit  of  paper  and 
sent  it  out  by  a  servant.  He  heard  her  tremulous  voice  when  she 
thanked  him,  and  wished  him  a  blessing  in  this  world,  he  heard 
her  crawl  away  coughing  from  the  door,  but  he  thought  of  nothing, 
except  that  he  had  again  spent  six-batzen  for  nothing. 

At  length  Peter  took  it  into  his  head  to  marry.  He  knew  that 
every  father  in  the  Schwarzwald  would  gladly  give  him  his  daughter, 
but  he  was  fastidious  in  his  choice,  for  he  wished  that  every 
body  should  praise  his  good  fortune  and  understanding  in  matri- 
mony as  well  as  in  other  matters.  He  therefore  rode  about  the 
whole  forest,  looking  out  in  every  direction,  but  none  of  the  pretty 
Schwarzwiilder  girls  seemed  beautiful  enough  for  him.  Having 
finally  looked  out  in  vain  for  the  most  beautiful  at  all  the  dancing- 
rooms,  he  was  one  day  told  the  most  beautiful  and  most  virtuous  girl 
in  the  whole  forest  was  the  daughter  of  a  poor  wood-cutter.  He 
heard  she  lived  quiet  and  retired,  was  industrious  and  managed  her 
father's  household  well,  and  that  she  was  never  seen  at  a  dancing- 
room,  not  even  at  Whitsuntide  or  the  Kirchweihfest.*  When  Peter 
heard  of  this  wonder  of  the  Schwarzwald,  he  determined  to  court  her, 
and,  having  inquired  where  the  hut  was,  rode  there.  The  father  of 
the  beautiful  Elizabeth  received  the  great  gentleman  with  astonish- 
ment, but  was  still  more  amazed  when  he  heard  it  was  the  rich  Herr 
Peter  who  wished  to  become  his  son-in-law.  Thinking  all  his  cares 
and  poverty  would  now  be  at  an  end,  he  did  not  hesitate  long  in 
giving  his  consent,  without  even  asking  the  beautiful  Elizabeth,  and 
the  good  child  was  so  dutiful  that  she  became  Frau  Peter  Munk 
without  opposition. 

But  the  poor  girl  did  not  find  the  happiness  she  had  dreamt  of. 
She  believed  she  understood  the  management  of  a  house  well,  but 
she  could  never  give  satisfaction  to  Herr  Peter;  she  had  compassion 
on  poor  people,  and,  as  her  husband  was  wealthy,  thought  it  no  sin 
to  give  a  poor  woman  a  penny,  or  a  dram  to  a  poor  aged  man.  This 
being  one  day  found  out  by  Peter,  he  said  to  her,  with  angry  look 
and  gruff  voice,  "  Why  do  you  waste  my  property  upon  ragamuffins 
and  vagabonds?  Have  you  brought  any  thing  of  your  own  to  the 

*  A  great  festival  in  German  villages,  general  during  the  months  of  October  and 
November. 


74  THE  COLD  HEART. 

house  that  you  can  give  away  ?  With  your  father's  beggar's  staff  you 
could  not  warm  a  soup,  and  you  lavish  my  money  like  a  princess. 
Once  more  let  me  find  you  out,  and  you  shall  feel  my  hand."  The 
beautiful  Elizabeth  wept  in  her  chamber  over  the  hard  heart  of  her 
husband,  and  often  wished  herself  at  home  in  her  father's  poor  hut 
rather  than  with  the  rich,  but  avaricious  and  sinful  Peter.  Alas ! 
Lad  she  known  that  he  had  a  heart  of  marble  and  could  neither  love 
her  nor  any  body  else,  she  would  not,  perhaps,  have  wondered.  But 
as  often  as  a  beggar  now  passed  while  she  was  sitting  before  the 
door,  and  drawing  his  hat  off,  asked  for  alms,  she  shut  her  eyes  that 
she  might  not  behold  the  distress,  and  closed  her  hand  tight  that  she 
might  not  put  it  involuntarily  in  her  pocket  and  take  out  a  kreutzer. 
This  caused  a  report  and  obtained  an  ill  name  for  Elizabeth  in  the 
•whole  forest,  and  she  was  said  to  be  even  more  miserly  than  Peter 
Munk.  But  one  day  Frau  Elizabeth  was  again  sitting  before  the 
door  spinning  and  humming  an  air,  for  she  was  cheerful  because  it 
was  fine  weather,  and  Peter  was  taking  a  ride  in  the  country,  when 
a  little  old  man  came  along  the  road,  carrying  a  large  heavy  bag,  and 
she  heard  him  panting  at  a  great  distance.  Sympathising,  she 
looked  at  him  and  thought  how  cruel  it  was  to  place  such  a  heavy 
burden  upon  an  aged  man. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  little  man  came  near,  tottering  and  panting, 
and  sank  under  the  weight  of  his  bag  almost  down  on  the  ground 
just  as  he  came  opposite  Frau  Elizabeth. 

"  Oh,  have  compassion  on  me,  good  woman,  and  give  me  a  drink 
of  water,"  said  the  little  man,  "  I  can  go  no  farther,  and  must  perish 
from  exhaustion." 

"  But  you  ought  not  to  carry  such  heavy  loads  at  your  age/7  said 
she. 

"  No  more  I  should  if  I  were  not  obliged  to  work  as  carrier  from 
poverty  and  to  prolong  my  life,"  replied  he.  "  Ah,  such  rich  ladies 
as  you  know  not  how  painful  poverty  is,  and  how  strengthening  a 
fresh  draught  in  this  hot  weather." 

On  hearing  this  she  immediately  ran  into  the  house,  took  a  pitcher 
from  the  shelf  and  filled  it  with  water;  but  she  had  only  gone  a  few 
paces  back  to  take  it  to  him,  when,  seeing  the  little  man  sit  on  his 
bag  miserable  and  wretched,  she  felt  pity  for  him,  and  recollecting 
that  her  husband  was  from  home,  she  put  down  the  pitcher,  took  a 
cup,  filled  it  with  wine,  put  a  loaf  of  rye  bread  on  it  and  gave  it  to 
the  poor  old  man.  "  There,"  she  said,  "  a  draught  of  wine  will  do 
you  more  good  than  water,  as  you  are  very  old;  but  do  not  drink 
so  hastily,  and  eat  some  bread  with  it." 

The  little  man  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  till  the  big  tears  came 
into  his  eyes;  he  drank  and  said,  "  I  have  grown  old,  but  have  seen 
few  people  who  were  so  compassionate  and  knew  how  to  spend  their 
gifts  so  handsomely  and  cordially  as  you  do,  Frau  Elizabeth.  But 
you  will  be  blessed  for  it  on  earth ;  such  a  heart  will  not  remain  un- 
requited." 


THE  COLD  HEART.  75 

"  No,  and  she  shall  Have  her  reward  on  the  spot,"  cried  a  terrible 
voice,  and  looking  round  they  found  it  was  Herr  Peter  with  a  face 
as  red  as  scarlet.  "  Even  my  choicest  wine  you  waste  upon  beggars, 
and  give  my  own  cup  to  the  lips  of  vagabonds?  There,  take  your 
reward."  His  wife  fell  prostrate  before  him  and  begged  his  forgive- 
ness, but  the  heart  of  stone  knew  no  pity,  and  flourishing  the  whip 
he  held  in  his  hand  he  struck  her  with  the  ebony  handle  on  her 
beautiful  forehead  with  such  vehemence,  that  she  sunk  lifeless  into 
the  arms  of  the  old  man.  When  he  saw  what  he  had  done  it  was 
almost  as  if  he  repented  of  the  deed  immediately ;  he  stooped  to  see 
whether  there  was  yet  life  in  her,  but  the  little  man  said  in  a  well- 
known  voice,  "  Spare  your  trouble,  Peter;  she  was  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  lovely  flower  in  the  Schwarzwald,  but  you  have  crushed  it 
and  never  again  will  see  it  bloom." 

Now  the  blood  fled  from  Peter's  cheek  and  he  said,  "  It  is  you 
then,  Mr.  Schatzhauser?  well,  what  is  done  is  done  then,  and  I  sup- 
pose this  was  to  happen.  But  I  trust  you  will  not  inform  against  me." 

"  Wretch,"  replied  the  glass-mannikin,  "  what  would  it  profit  me 
if  I  brought  your  mortal  part  to  the  gallows  ?  It  is  not  earthly  tri- 
bunals you  have  to  fear,  but  another  and  more  severe  one ;  for  you 
have  sold  your  soul  to  the  evil  one." 

"  And  if  I  have  sold  my  heart,"  cried  Peter,  "  it  is  no  one's  fault 
but  yours  and  your  deceitful  treasures ;  your  malicious  spirit  brought 
me  to  ruin ;  you  forced  me  to  seek  help  from  another,  and  upon  you 
lies  the  whole  responsibility."  He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words 
than  the  little  man  grew  enormously  tall  and  broad,  his  eyes  it  is 
said  became  as  large  as  soup  plates,  and  his  mouth  like  a  heated  fur- 
nace vomiting  flames.  Peter  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  his  stone 
heart  did  not  protect  his  limbs  from  trembling  like  an  aspen  leaf. 
The  sylvan  spirit  seized  him,  as  if  with  vultures'  claws,  by  the  nape  of 
the  neck,  whirled  him  round  as  the  storm  whirls  the  dry  leaves,  and 
dashed  him  to  the  ground  so  that  his  ribs  cracked  within  him.  "  You 
worm  of  dust,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  roaringlike  thunder,  "  I  could  crush 
you  if  I  wished,  for  you  have  trespassed  against  the  lord  of  the  forest; 
but  for  the  sake  of  this  dead  woman  that  fed  and  refreshed  me,  I 
give  you  a  week's  respite.  If  you  do  not  repent  I  shall  return  and 
crush  your  bones,  and  you  will  go  hence  in  your  sins." 

It  was  already  evening  when  some  men  passing  by  saw  the  wealthy 
Peter  Munk  lying  on  the  ground.  They  turned  him  over  and  over 
to  see  whether  there  was  still  life  in  him,  but  for  a  long  time  looked 
In  vain.  At  length  one  of  them  went  into  the  house,  fetched  some 
water  and  sprinkled  some  on  his  face.  Peter  fetched  a  deep  sigh 
and  opened  his  eyes,  looked  for  a  long  time  around,  and  asked  lor 
his  wife  Elizabeth,  but  no  one  had  seen  her.  He  thanked  the  men 
for  their  assistance,  crawled  into  his  house,  searched  everywhere, 
but  in  vain,  and  found  what  he  imagined  to  be  a  dream  a  sad  reality. 
As  he  was  now  quite  alone  strange  thoughts  came  into  his  mind; 
he  did  not  indeed  fear  any  thing,  for  his  heart  was  quite  cold;  but 


76  THE  COLD  HEART. 

when  he  thought  of  the  death  of  his  wife  his  own  forcibly  came  to 
his  mind,  and  he  reflected  how  laden  he  should  go  hence — heavily 
laden  with  the  tears  of  the  poor;  with  thousands  of  the  curses  of  those 
who  could  not  soften  his  heart;  with  the  lamentations  of  the  wretched 
on  whom  he  had  set  his  dogs;  with  the  silent  despair  of  his  mother; 
with  the  blood  of  the  beautiful  and  good  Elizabeth;  and  yet  he 
could  not  even  so  much  as  give  an  account  of  her  to  her  poor  old 
father,  should  he  come  and  ask  "  Where  is  my  daughter,  your  wife?" 
How  then  could  he  give  an  account  to  Him — to  Him  to  whom  belong 
all  woods,  all  lakes,  all  mountains,  and  the  life  of  men? 

This  tormented  him  in  his  dreams  at  night,  and  he  was  awoke 
every  moment  by  a  sweet  voice  crying  to  him  "  Peter,  get  a  warmer 
heart !"  And  when  he  was  awoke  he  quickly  closed  his  eyes  again, 
for  the  voice  uttering  this  warning  to  him  could  be  none  other  but 
that  of  his  Elizabeth.  The  following  day  he  went  into  the  inn  to 
divert  his  thoughts,  and  there  met  his  friend,  fat  Hezekiel.  He  sat 
down  by  him  and  they  commenced  talking  on  various  topics,  of  the 
fine  weather,  of  war,  of  taxes,  and  lastly,  also  of  death,  and  how  such 
and  such  a  person  had  died  suddenly.  Now  Peter  asked  him  what 
he  thought  about  death,  and  how  it  would  be  after  death.  Hezekiel 
replied,  "  That  the  body  was  buried,  but  that  the  soul  went  either  up 
to  heaven  or  down  to  hell." 

"  Then  the  heart  also  is  buried?"  asked  Peter,  anxiously. 

"  To  be  sure  that  also  is  buried/' 

"  But  supposing  one  has  no  longer  a  heart  ?"  continued  Peter. 

Hezekiel  gave  him  a  terrible  look  at  these  words.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  that  ?  Do  you  wish  to  rally  me  ?  Think  you  I  have  no 
heart  ?" 

"  Oh,  heart  enough,  as  firm  as  stone,"  replied  Peter. 

Hezekiel  looked  in  astonishment  at  him,  glancing  round  at  the 
same  time  to  see  whether  they  were  overheard,  and  then  said, 
"  Whence  do  you  know  that  ?  Or  does  your  own  perhaps  no  longer 
beat  within  your  breast  ?" 

"  It  beats  no  longer,  at  least,  not  in  my  breast  ;"  replied  Peter 
Munk.  **  But  tell  me,  as  you  know  what  I  mean,  how  will  it  be 
with  our  hearts?" 

"Why  does  that  concern  you,  my  good  fellow?"  answered  Hezekiel, 
laughing.  "  Why  you  have  plenty  here  upon  earth,  and  that  is 
sufficient.  Indeed,  the  comfort  of  our  cold  hearts  is  that  no  fear  at 
such  thoughts  befals  us." 

"  Very  true,  but  still  one  cannot  help  thinking  of  it,  and  though  I 
know  no  fear  now,  still  I  well  remember  how  I  was  terrified  at  hell 
when  yet  an  innocent  little  boy." 

"  Well,  it  will  not  exactly  go  well  with  us,"  said  Hezekiel;  "  I  once 
asked  a  schoolmaster  about  it,  who  told  me  that  the  hearts  are 
weighed  after  death  to  ascertain  the  weight  of  their  sins.  The  light 
ones  rise,  the  heavy  sink,  and  methinks  our  stone  hearts  will  weigh 
heavy  enough." 


THE  COLD  HEART.  77 

"  Alas,  true,"  replied  Peter;  u  I  often  feel  uncomfortable  that  my 
heart  is  so  devoid  of  sympathy,  and  so  indifferent  when  I  think  of 
such  things."  So  ended  their  conversation. 

But  the  following  night  Peter  again  heard  the  well-known  voice 
whispering  into  his  ear  five  or  six  times,  "  Peter,  get  a  warmer  heart  I" 
He  felt  no  repentance  at  having  killed  his  wife,  but  when  he  told  the 
servants  that  she  had  gone  on  a  journey,  he  always  thought  within 
himself,  whereas  she  gone  to  ?  Six  days  had  thus  passed  away,  and 
he  still  heard  the  voice  at  night,  and  still  thought  of  the  sylvan 
spirit  and  his  terrible  menace  ;  but  on  the  seventh  morning,  he 
jumped  up  from  his  couch  and  cried,  "  Well,  then,  I  will  see  whether 
I  can  get  a  warmer  heart,  for  the  cold  stone  in  my  breast  makes  my 
life  only  tedious  and  desolate."  He  quickly  put  on  his  best  dress, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  towards  the  Tannenbuhl. 

Having  arrived  at  that  part  where  the  trees  stand  thickest,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  went  with  a  quick  pace  towards  the  summit  of  the 
hill,  and  as  he  stood  before  the  thick  pine  he  repeated  the  following 
verse  : 

"  Keeper  of  wealth  in  the  forest  of  pine, 
Hundreds  of  years  are  surely  thine : 
Thine  is  the  tall  pine's  dwelling  place — 
Those  born  on  Sunday  see  thy  face.'* 

The  glass-mannikin  appeared,  not  looking  friendly  and  kindly 
as  formerly,  but  gloomy  and  sad ;  he  wore  a  little  coat  of  black 
glass,  and  a  long  glass  crape  hung  floating  from  his  hat,  and  Peter 
well  knew  for  whom  he  mourned. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me,  Peter  Munk  ?"  asked  he  with  a 
stern  voice. 

"  I  have  one  more  wish,  Mr.  Schatzhauser,"  replied  Peter,  with 
his  look  cast  down. 

"  Can  hearts  of  stone  still  wish  ?"  said  the  former.  "  You  have 
all  your  corrupt  mind  can  need,  and  I  could  scarcely  fulfil  your 
wish." 

"  But  you  have  promised  to  grant  me  three  wishes,  and  one  I 
have  still  left." 

"  I  can  refuse  it  if  it  is  foolish,"  continued  the  spirit;  "  but  come, 
let  me  hear  what  you  wish." 

"  Well,  take  the  dead  stone  out  of  me,  and  give  me  a  living 
heart,"  said  Peter. 

"  Have  I  made  the  bargain  about  the  heart  with  you?"  asked 
the  glass-mannikin.  "  Am  I  the  Dutch  Michel,  who  gives  wealth 
and  cold  hearts  ?  It  is  of  him  you  must  seek  to  regain  your  heart." 

"  Alas  !  he  will  never  give  it  back,"  said  Peter. 

"  Bad  as  you  are,  yet  I  feel  pity  for  you,"  continued  the  little 
man,  after  some  consideration  ;  "  and  as  your  wish  is  not  foolish,  I 
cannot  at  least  refuse  my  help.  Hear  then.  You  can  never  recover 
your  heart  by  force,  only  by  stratagem,  but  probably  you  will  find 
it  without  difficulty ;  for  Michel  will  ever  be  stupid  Michel,  al- 


78  THE  COLD  HEART. 

though  he  fancies  himself  very  shrewd.  Go  straightway  to  him, 
and  do  as  I  tell  you."  He  now  instructed  Peter  fully,  and  gave  him 
a  small  cross  of  pure  glass,  saying,  "  He  cannot  touch  your  life  and 
will  let  you  go  when  you  hold  this  before  him  and  repeat  a  prayer. 
When  you  have  obtained  your  wish  return  to  me." 

Peter  took  the  cross,  impressed  all  his  words  on  his  memory, 
and  started  on  his  way  to  the  Dutchman  Michel's  residence;  there 
he  called  his  name  three  times  and  immediately  the  giant  stood  be- 
fore him. 

"  You  have  slain  your  wife?'7  he  asked,  with  a  grim  laugh.  "  I 
should  have  done  the  same,  she  wasted  your  property  on  beggars  ; 
but  you  will  be  obliged  to  leave  the  country  for  some  time  ;  and  I 
suppose  you  want  money  and  have  come  to  get  it?" 

"  You  have  hit  it,"  replied  Peter;  "  and  pray  let  it  be  a  large  sum, 
for  it  is  a  long  way  to  America." 

Michel  leading  the  way  they  went  into  his  cottage;  there  he 
opened  a  chest  containing  much  money  and  took  out  whole  rolls  of 
gold.  While  he  was  counting  it  on  the  table  Peter  said,  "  You're 
a  wag,  Michel.  You  have  told  me  a  fib,  saying  that  I  had  a  stone 
in  my  breast,  and  that  you  had  my  heart/' 

"  And  is  it  not  so  then?"  asked  Michel,  astonished.  "  Do  you 
feel  your  heart  ?  Is  it  not  cold  as  ice?  Have  you  any  fear  or  sorrow? 
Do  you  repent  of  any  thing  ?" 

"  You  have  only  made  my  heart  to  cease  beating,  but  I  still  have 
it  in  my  breast,  and  so  has  Hezekiel,  who  told  me  you  had  deceived  us 
both.  You  are  not  the  man  who,  unperceived  and  without  danger, 
could  tear  the  heart  from  the  breast  ;  it  would  require  witchcraft 
on  your  part." 

"  But  I  assure  you,'5  cried  Michel,  angrily,  "  you  and  Hezekiel  and 
all  the  rich  people,  who  have  sold  themselves  to  me,  have  hearts  as 
cold  as  yours,  and  their  real  hearts  I  have  here  in  my  chamber/' 

"  Ah  !  how  glibly  you  can  tell  lies,"  said  Peter,  laughing,  "  you 
must  tell  that  to  another  to  be  believed;  think  you  I  have  not  seen 
such  tricks  by  dozens  in  my  journeys  ?  Your  hearts  in  the  chamber 
are  made  of  wax ;  you're  a  rich  fellow  I  grant,  but  you  are  no 
magician." 

Now  the  giant  was  enraged  and  burst  open  the  chamber  door, 
saying,  "  Come  in  and  read  all  the  labels  and  look  yonder  is  Peter 
Munk's  heart ;  do  you  see  how  it  writhes  ?  Can  that  too  be  of  wax  ?" 

"  For  all  that,  it  is  of  wax,"  replied  Peter.  "  A  genuine  heart 
does  not  writhe  like  that.  I  have  mine  still  in  my  breast.  No  !  you 
are  no  magician." 

"  But  I  will  prove  it  to  you,"  cried  the  former  angrily.  "  You  shall 
feel  that  it  is  your  heart."  He  took  it,  opened  Peter's  waistcoat, 
took  the  stone  from  his  breast,  and  held  it  up.  Then  taking  the 
heart,  he  breathed  on  it,  and  set  it  carefully  in  its  proper  place,  and 
immediately  Peter  felt  how  it  beat,  and  could  rejoice  again.  "  How 
do  you  feel  now?"  asked  Michel,  smiling. 


THE  COLD  HEART.  79 

"  True  enough,  you  were  right,"  replied  Peter,  taking  carefully 
the  little  cross  from  his  pocket.  "  I  should  never  have  believed 
such  things  could  be  done." 

"  You  see  I  know  something  of  witchcraft,  do  I  not?  But,  come, 
I  will  now  replace  the  stone  again." 

"  Gently,  Herr  Michel,"  cried  Peter,  stepping  backwards,  and 
holding  up  the  cross,  "  mice  are  caught  with  bacon,  and  this  time 
you  have  been  deceived ;"  and  immediately  he  began  to  repeat  the 
prayers  that  came  into  his  mind. 

Now  Michel  became  less  and  less,  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
writhed  like  a  worm,  groaning  and  moaning,  and  all  the  hearts 
round  began  to  beat,  and  became  convulsed,  so  that  it  sounded  like 
a  clockmaker's  workshop. 

Peter  was  terrified,  his  mind  was  quite  disturbed;  he  ran  from 
the  house,  and,  urged  by  the  anguish  of  the  moment,  climbed  up  a 
steep  rock,  for  he  heard  Michel  get  up,  stamping  and  raving,  and 
denouncing  curses  on  him.  When  he  reached  the  top,  he  ran 
towards  the  Tannenbiihl ;  a  dreadful  thunder-storm  came  on ;  light- 
ning flashed  around  him,  splitting  the  trees,  but  he  reached  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  glass- mannikin  in  safety. 

His  heart  beat  joyfully — only  because  it  did  beat;  but  now  he 
looked  back  with  horror  on  his  past  life,  as  he  did  on  the  thunder- 
storm that  was  destroying  the  beautiful  forest  on  his  right  and 
left.  He  thought  of  his  wife,  a  beautiful,  good  woman,  whom  he 
had  murdered  from  avarice ;  he  appeared  to  himself  an  outcast  from 
mankind,  and  wept  bitterly  as  he  reached  the  hill  of  the  glass- 
mannikin. 

The  Schatzhauser  was  sitting  under  a  pine-tree,  and  was  smoking 
a  small  pipe ;  but  he  looked  more  serene  than  before. 

"  Why  do  you  weep,  Peter?"  asked  he,  "  have  you  not  recovered 
your  heart?  Is  the  cold  one  still  in  your  breast?" 

"  Alas!  sir,"  sighed  Peter,  "  when  I  still  carried  about  with  me 
the  cold  stony  heart,  I  never  wept,  my  eyes  were  as  dry  as  the 
ground  in  July;  but  now  my  old  heart  will  almost  break  with  what 
I  have  done.  I  have  driven  my  debtors  to  misery,  set  the  dogs  on 
the  sick  and  poor,  and  you  yourself  know  how  my  whip  fell  upon 
her  beautiful  forehead." 

"  Peter,  you  were  a  great  sinner,"  said  the  little  man.  "  Money 
and  idleness  corrupted  you,  until  your  heart  turned  to  stone,  and  no 
longer  knew  joy,  sorrow,  repentance,  or  compassion.  But  re- 
pentance reconciles;  and  if  I  only  knew  that  you  were  truly  sorry 
for  your  past  life,  it  might  yet  be  in  my  power  to  do  something  for 
you." 

"  I  wish  nothing  more,"  replied  Peter,  dropping  his  head  sorrow- 
fully. "  It  is  all  over  with  me,  I  can  no  more  rejoice  in  my  life- 
time ;  what  shall  I  do  thus  alone  in  the  world?  My  mother  will 
never  pardon  me  for  what  I  have  done  to  her,  and  I  have  perhaps 
brought  her  to  the  grave,  monster  that  I  am !  Elizabeth,  my  wife, 


80  THE  COLD  HEART. 

too, — rather  strike  me  dead,  Herr  Schatzhauser,  then  my  wretched 
life  will  end  at  once." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  little  man,  "  if  you  wish  nothing  else,  you 
can  have  it,  so  my  axe  is  at  hand."  He  quietly  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  knocked  the  ashes  out,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket.  Then 
rising  slowly,  he  went  behind  the  pines.  But  Peter  sat  down  weep- 
ing in  the  grass,  his  life  had  no  longer  any  value  for  him,  and  he 
patiently  awaited  the  deadly  blow.  After  a  short  time,  he  heard 
gentle  steps  behind  him,  and  thought,  "  Now  he  is  coming." 

"  Look  up  once  more,  Peter  Munk,"  cried  the  little  man.  He 
wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes  and  looked  up,  and  beheld  his  mother, 
and  Elizabeth  his  wife,  who  kindly  gazed  on  him.  Then  he  jumped 
up  joyfully,  saying,  "  You  are  not  dead,  then,  Elizabeth,  nor  you, 
mother;  and  have  you  forgiven  me?" 

"  They  will  forgive  you,"  said  the  glass-mannikin,  "  because  you 
feel  true  repentance,  and  all  shall  be  forgotten.  Go  home  now,  to 
your  father's  hut,  and  be  a  charcoal-burner  as  before;  if  you  are 
active  and  honest,  you  will  do  credit  to  your  trade,  and  your  neigh- 
bours will  love  and  esteem  you  more  than  if  you  possessed  ten  tons 
of  gold."  Thus  saying,  the  glass-mannikin  left  them.  The  three 
praised  and  blessed  him,  and  went  home. 

The  splendid  house  of  wealthy  Peter  stood  no  longer;  it  was 
struck  by  lightning,  and  burnt  to  the  ground,  with  all  its  treasures. 
But  they  were  not  far  from  his  father's  hut,  and  thither  they  went, 
without  caring  much  for  their  great  loss.  But  what  was  their 
surprise  when  they  reached  the  hut;  it  was  changed  into  a  hand- 
some farm-house,  and  all  in  it  was  simple,  but  good  and  cleanly. 

"  This  is  the  glass-mannikin's  doing,"  cried  Peter. 

"  How  beautiful !"  said  Frau  Elizabeth;  "  and  here  I  feel  more  at 
home  than  in  the  larger  house,  with  many  servants." 

Henceforth  Peter  Munk  became  an  industrious  and  honest  man. 
He  was  content  with  what  he  had,  carried  on  his  trade  cheerfully, 
and  thus  it  was  that  he  became  wealthy  by  his  own  energy,  and 
respected  and  beloved  in  the  whole  forest.  He  no  longer  quarrelled 
with  his  wife,  but  honoured  his  mother,  and  relieved  the  poor  who 
came  to  his  door.  When,  after  twelvemonths,  Frau  Elizabeth  pre- 
sented him  with  a  beautiful  little  boy,  Peter  went  to  the  Tannenblihl, 
and  repeated  the  verse  as  before.  But  the  glass-mannikin  did  not 
show  himself. 

"  Mr.  Schatzhauser,"  he  cried  loudly,  "  only  listen  to  me.  I 
wish  nothing  but  to  ask  you  to  stand  godfather  to  my  little  son." 
But  he  received  no  answer,  and  only  a  short  gust  of  wind  rushed 
through  the  pines,  and  cast  a  few  cones  on  the  grass. 

"  Then  I  will  take  these  as  a  remembrance,  as  you  will  not  show 
yourself,"  cried  Peter,  and  he  put  them  in  his  pocket,  and  returned 
home.  But  when  he  took  off  his  jacket,  and  his  mother  turned  out 
the  pockets  before  putting  it  away,  four  large  rolls  of  money  fell 
out;  and  when  they  opened  them,  they  found  them  all  good  and 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  81 

new  Baden  dollars,  and  not  one  counterfeit,  and  these  were  the  in- 
tended godfather's  gift  for  little  Peter,  from  the  little  man  in  the 
Tannenbiihl.  Thus  they  lived  on,  quietly  and  cheerfully;  and  many 
a  time  Peter  Munk,  when  gray-headed,  would  say,  "It  is  indeed 
better  to  be  content  with  little,  than  to  have  wealth  and  a  cold 
heart." 

C.  A.  F. 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

BY  KARL  IMMERMANN. 

[This  tale  occurs  in  the  novel  of  "  Miinchhausen,"  the  narrator  telling  it  to  the 
object  of  his  affections.  It  is  necessary  to  state  this  to  render  the  opening  intel- 
ligible. The  story  is  probably  intended  to  satirize  the  speculative  tendency  of  the 
Germans,  and  old  Albertus  Magnus  seems  a  sort  of  representative  of  Hegel,  whom 
Immermann  openly  attacks  in  the  course  of  the  "  Miinchhausen."  To  me  the  ex- 
pression "  dialectic  thought,"  which  occurs  in  the  Hegelian  sense  at  p.  85,  is  conclusive 
in  this  respect. — J.  O.] 

"  Did  you  ever,  Lisbeth,  on  a  clear  sunny  day,  go  through  a  beau- 
tiful wood,  in  which  the  blue  sky  peered  through  the  green  diadems 
above  you,  where  the  exhalation  of  the  trees  was  like  a  breath  of 
God,  and  when  thy  foot  scattered  a  thousand  glittering  pearls  from 
the  pointed  grass?" 

"  Yes,  lately,  Oswald  dear,  I  went  through  the  mountains  to 
collect  the  rents.  It  is  delightful  to  walk  in  a  green  fresh  wood;  I 
could  ramble  about  one  for  whole  days  without  meeting  a  soul,  and 
without  being  in  the  least  terrified.  The  turf  is  God's  mantle,  and 
we  are  guarded  by  a  thousand  angels,  whether  we  sit  or  stand  upon 
it.  Now  a  hill — now  a  rock!  I  ran  and  ran,  because  I  always 
thought,  '  Behind,  then,  must  be  flying  the  wonderful  bird  with  its 
blue  and  red  wings,  its  golden  crown  upon  its  head.'  I  grew  hot  and 
red  with  running,  but  not  weary.  One  does  not  get  weary  in  a 
wood." 

"  And  when  you  did  not  see  the  wonderful  bird  behind  the  hill 
in  the  hedge,  you  stood  still  hard-breathing,  and  you  heard  afar  in 
the  valley  of  oaks  the  sound  of  the  axe,  which  is  the  forest  clock,  and 
tells  that  man's  hour  is  running  even  in  such  a  lovely  solitude." 

"  Or  farther,  Oswald,  the  free  prospect  up  the  hill  between  the 
dark  round  beeches,  and  still  closer,  the  brow  of  the  hill  crowned 
with  lofty  trunks !  There  red  cows  were  feeding,  and  shook  their 
bells,  there  the  dew  on  the  grass  gave  a  silvery  hue  to  the  sunlit 
valley,  and  the  shadows  of  the  cows  and  the  trees  played  at  hide-and- 
seek  with  each  other." 

"  Well,  then,  on  such  a  sunny  morning  many  hundred  years  ago, 

G 


82  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

two  young  men  met  one  another  in  the  wood.  It  was  in  the  great 
woody  ridge  of  mountains,  called  Spessart,  which  forms  the  boun- 
dary between  the  joyous  districts  of  the  Rhine  and  the  fertile  Fran  • 
conia.  That  is  a  wood,  dear  Lisbeth,  which  is  ten  leagues  broad 
and  twenty  long,  covering  plains  and  mountains,  clifts  and  valleys. 

"  On  the  great  highway,  which  runs  straight  from  the  Rhine-land 
to  Wiirzburg  and  Bamberg,  these  young  men  met  each  other. 
One  came  from  the  west,  the  other  from  the  east.  Their  animals 
were  as  opposite  as  their  directions.  The  one  from  the  east  sat  upon 
a  bay  horse,  which  pranced  merrily,  and  he  looked  right  stately  in 
his  gay  armour,  and  his  cap  of  red  velvet,  from  which  the  heron's 
plume  descended;  the  one  from  the  west  wore  a  black  cap  without 
any  mark  of  distinction,  a  long  student's  cloak  of  the  same  colour, 
and  rode  on  a  humble  mule. 

"  When  the  young  knight  had  approached  the  travelling  student, 
he  stopped  his  bay,  saluted  the  other  in  a  friendly  way,  and  said : 
4  Good  friend,  I  was  just  going  to  alight,  and  to  take  my  morning 
snack,  but  since  two  are  required  for  love,  gaming,  and  eating,  if 
these  three  pleasant  affairs  are  to  go  off  properly,  I  beg  leave  to  ask 
you,  whether  you  will  dismount  and  be  my  partner?  A. mouth- 
full  of  grass  would  no  less  suit  your  gray,  than  my  bay.  The  day 
will  be  hot,  and  the  beasts  require  some  repose/ 

"  The  travelling  student  was  pleased  with  this  offer.  Both  alighted 
and  seated  themselves  by  the  roadside  on  the  wild  thyme  and 
lavender,  from  which,  as  they  sat  down,  a  white  cloud  of  perfumes 
ascended,  and  a  hundred  bees  that  were  disturbed  in  their  labours 
arose  humming.  A  squire,  who  had  followed  the  young  knight  with 
a  heavy  laden  horse,  took  charge  of  the  two  animals,  gave  his  master 
a  goblet  and  bottle,  together  with  bread  and  meat  from  the  knap- 
sack, unbridled  the  beasts,  and  let  them  graze  by  the  roadside. 

"  The  travelling  student  felt  the  side -pocket  of  his  cloak,  drew 
back  his  hand  with  an  air  of  vexation,  and  cried :  '  Out  upon  my 
eternal  abstraction!  This  very  morning,  I  had  packed  up  my 
breakfast  so  neatly  in  the  inn,  and  then  something  else  must  needs 
come  into  my  head,  and  make  me  forget  my  provisions.' 

"  *  If  that  is  all/  cried  the  young  knight,  '  here  is  enough  for 
you  and  me !'  He  divided  the  bread  and  meat,  filled  the  goblet, 
and  gave  the  other  both  liquid  and  solid.  At  the  same  time  he 
examined  him  more  closely,  while  the  other  on  his  side  examined 
him  also,  and  then  a  cry  of  astonishment  was  uttered  by  them  both : 

"  '  Are  you  not?' — '  Nay,  art  thou  not?'  they  cried. 

"  *  I  am  indeed  Conrad  of  Aufsess !'  cried  the  young  knight. 

u  *  And  I  Peter  of  Stellen,'  cried  the  other.  They  embraced  each 
other,  and  could  hardly  contain  themselves  for  joy  at  this  unex- 
pected meeting. 

"  They  were  indeed  playfellows,  who  had  met  by  accident 
in  the  verdant  Spessart.  Their  fathers  had  been  friends,  and  the 
sons  had  often  played  at  bat  and  ball  together;  had  quarrelled  a 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  83 

hundred  times,  and  as  often  made  it  up  again.  However,  young 
Peter  was  always  more  quiet  and  reflective  than  his  playfellow, 
who  thought  about  nothing  but  the  names  of  weapons  and  riding- 
equipage.  At  last  Peter  declared  to  his  father  that  he  wished  to 
become  learned,  and  he  went  to  Cologne  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  the 
celebrated  Albertus  Magnus,  who  was  master  of  all  the  human 
sciences  then  known,  and  of  whom,  report  said,  that  he  was  also 
deeply  initiated  in  the  ocult  arts. 

"  A  considerable  time  had  elapsed,  since  either  of  the  playfellows 
Lad  heard  any  thing  of  the  other.  After  the  first  storm  of  joy  had 
subsided,  and  breakfast  was  removed,  the  knight  asked  the  student 
what  had  occurred  to  him. 

"  '  To  that,  my  friend,  I  can  give  a  very  short  answer,  and 
ought  to  give  thee  a  very  long  one.  A  short  one,  if  I  merely  por- 
tray the  outward  form  and  shell  of  my  life  hitherto ;  a  long  one — 
ah,  an  infinitely  long  one,  if  thou  desirest  to  taste  the  inner  kernel 
of  this  shell.' 

"  i  Eh,  silly  fellow/  cried  the  knight,  '  what  hard  discourse  is 
this?  Give  the  shell  and  a  bit  of  the  kernel,  if  the  whole  nut  is  too 
large  for  a  single  meal.' 

"  '  Then  know/  replied  the  other,  '  that  my  visible  course  of  life 
was  between  narrow  banks.  I  dwelt  in  a  little  dark  street,  at  the 
back  of  a  house  inhabited  by  quiet  people.  My  window  looked 
upon  a  garden  to  the  trees  and  shrubs  of  which  a  solemn  back- 
ground was  formed  by  the  wall  of  the  Templars5  house.  I  kept 
myself  very  solitary,  associating  neither  with  the  citizens,  nor  with 
the  students.  The  result  is  that  I  know  nothing  about  the  large 
city,  except  the  street  leading  from  my  house  to  the  Dominican  con- 
vent, where  my  great  master  taught.  When  I  returned  to  my  cell, 
and  had  kept  awake  till  midnight  by  my  studying  lamp,  I  some- 
times looked  out  of  window  to  cool  my  heated  eyes  by  exposure  to 
:he  deep  starry  heaven.  I  then  often  saw  a  light  in  the  Templars' 
louse  opposite;  the  knights  in  the  white  mantles  of  their  order 
passed  along  the  galleries,  like  spirits  in  the  glare  of  red  torches, 
vanished  behind  the  pillars,  and  re-appeared.  In  the  extreme  cor- 
ner of  the  wing,  curtains  were  let  down  before  the  windows,  but 
:hrough  the  thinner  parts  of  these  a  singular  light  shone,  while  be- 
tiind  them  melodies  could  be  heard,  sounding  through  the  night 
sweetly  and  solemnly,  like  forbidden  desires. 

"  '  Thus  did  my  days  pass  insignificant  to  outward  appearance,  but 
internally  a  brilliant  festival  of  all  sorts  of  wonders.  Albertus  now 
distinguished  me  above  his  other  pupils ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  ob- 
served that  he  repeated  to  me  with  a  particular  emphasis,  certain 
•words,  which  passed  unheeded  by  the  rest.  These  were  words  which 
pointed  to  the  mysterious  connection  of  all  human  knowledge,  and 
fco  a  common  root,  shooting  into  the  darkest  secrecy  of  that  great 
tree,  which  in  the  light  above  unfolded  its  mighty  branches ; — as  gram- 
mar, dialectics,  eloquence,  arithmetic,  geometry,  astronomy,  and 

G2 


84  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

music.  At  such  words  liis  eyes  would  rest  upon  me,  with  the  most 
penetrating  glance,  and  my  looks  told  him,  that  he  had  kindled  in  me 
a  deep  desire  for  the  last  and  greatest  treasures  of  his  mind. 

"  *  By  degrees,  I  became  the  confident  of  his  secret  laboratory,  and 
the  pupil  to  which  he  intended  to  bequeath,  as  a  precious  legacy,  a 
portion  of  his  talent.  There  is  only  one  marrow  of  things,  which 
here  in  the  metal  is  heavy  and  presses  down,  there  in  the  waving 
plant,  or  the  volatile  bird,  struggles  to  free  itself  from  the  original 
kernel.  All  things  undergo  a  perpetual  change.  The  Creator  in- 
deed works  in  nature,  but  nature  also  works  for  herself.  And  he 
who  has  the  right  power  at  his  command  can  call  forth  her  own 
peculiar  independent  life,  so  that  the  limbs  which  would  otherwise 
remain  bound  in  the  Creator,  will  unfold  themselves  to  new  move- 
ments. My  great  master  conducted  me  with  a  secure  hand  to  that 
spring,  where  the  marrow  of  things  is  flowing.  I  dipped  my 
finger  therein,  and  all  my  senses  were  at  once  filled  with  a  super- 
human power  of  perception.  We  often  sat  together  in  the  sooty 
melting-room,  and  looked  into  the  glow  of  the  furnace;  he  before, 
on  a  low  stool,  I  cowering  behind  him,  giving  the  coals  or  the  pieces 
of  ore,  which  he  flung  into  the  crucible  with  his  left  hand,  while 
with  the  right  he  affectionately  held  me.  Then  the  metals  defended 
themselves;  the  salts  and  acids  crackled;  the  great  Regulus,  who 
rules  all  the  world  wished,  as  in  a  stormy  fortress,  to  guard  himself 
in  the  midst  of  sharp-angled  crystals ;  the  red,  blue,  and  green  vas- 
sals were  kindled  in  wrath,  and  as  if  to  keep  us  off,  stretched  their 
glaring  spears  towards  us,  but  we  broke  through  the  works  and  de- 
stroyed the  garrison,  and  the  shining  king  humbly  surrendered 
himself  over  the  ruins  of  dross.  Gold  in  itself  is  nothing  to  him 
whose  heart  is  not  set  on  earthly  things,  but  to  perceive  this  dearest 
and  most  precious  boon  of  nature  in  all  and  every  thing,  even  in 
what  is  most  trifling  and  insignificant,  that  is  a  great  matter  to  the 
philosopher.  At  other  times  the  stars  showed  us  their  curious 
circles  which  separated  themselves  as  history,  and  sunk  to  the  earth, 
or  the  intimate  connection  of  tones  and  numbers  was  awakened  to 
us  and  showed  us  links  which  no  word  can  describe,  but  which  are 
again  much  more  revealed  by  tones  and  numbers.  But  in  all  this 
mysterious  essence  and  interweaving,  that  it  might  not  again  be- 
come a  cold  sticky  mass,  floated,  ever  combining  and  ever  freeing, 
that  which  separates  itself,  both  in  itself  and  in  things,  amid  the  con- 
test of  ever  fading  youth — the  great,  the  unfathomable,  the  dialectic 
thought. 

"  *  Oh  blessed  satisfying  time  of  the  opened  intelligence,  of  the  wan- 
dering through  the  inner  halls  of  the  palace,  at  the  metal  doors  of 
which  others  knock  in  vain!  At  last " 

"  The  wandering  student,  whose  lips  during  the  narrative  had  been 
glowing  more  and  more,  took  a  deep  red  colour,  while  a  strange  fire 
flashed  from  his  eyes,  stopped  short  here,  as  though  suddenly  sobered 
from  his  inspiration.  The  knight  wished  in  vain  for  the  completion 
of  the  discourse,  and  then  said  to  his  friend:  '  Well — at  last?' 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  85 

"  '  At  last,'  replied  the  student,  in  a  tone  of  feigned  indifference, 
*  we  were  obliged  to  separate,  if  only  for  a  short  time.  My  great 
master  now  sends  me  to  Ratisbon  to  ask  for  certain  papers  from  the 
sacristy  of  the  cathedral,  which  he  left  there  as  bishop.  I  shall  bring 
them  to  him,  and  shall  then,  indeed,  if  I  can,  pass  my  life  with  him/ 
,  "  The  young  knight  poured  the  rest  of  his  wine  into  the  goblet, 
looked  into  it,  and  drank  the  wine  more  slowly  than  before.  '  Thou 
hast  told  me  strange  things"  he  began  after  a  silence,  '  but  they  do 
not  stagger  me.  God's  world  appears  to  me  so  beautifully  adorned, 
that  I  should  take  no  delight  in  tearing  away  the  charming  veil,  and 
looking  in  to  the  innermost  core  of  things,  as  thou  cailcst  it.  The  sky 
is  blue,  the  stars  shine,  the  wood  rustles,  the  plants  give  fragrance, 
and  this  blue,  this  shining,  this  rustling,  this  fragrance — are  they  not 
the  most  beautiful  things  that  can  be,  behind  which  there  is  nothing 
more  beautiful?  Pardon  me,  I  do  not  envy  thee  thy  secret  know- 
ledge. Poor  fellow !  this  knowledge  does  not  give  thee  a  colour. 
Thy  cheeks  are  quite  pale  and  sunken.' 

"  '  Every  one  has  his  appointed  path,  one  this,  the  other  that/ 
replied  the  scholar.  '  It  is  not  the  bounding  of  blood  that  con- 
stitutes life.  Marble  is  white,  and  walls  of  marble  generally  enclose 
the  spot  in  which  stand  the  statues  of  the  gods,  yet  enough  of 
this,  and  now  for  thyself.  What  hast  thou  done  since  I  last  saw 
thee?' 

"  '  Oh !  of  that,'  cried  the  young  knight  Conrad,  with  his  usual 
light-heartedness,  '  there  is  little  to  be  told !  I  got  upon  horseback  and 
got  off  again,  I  went  about  to  many  a  good  prince's  court,  thrust 
many  a  spear,  gained  many  thanks,  missed  many  thanks,  and  peeped 
into  many  a  lovely  woman's  eye.  I  can  write  my  name,  and  press  the 
knob  of  my  sword  in  wax  by  the  side  of  it,  and  I  can  rhyme  a  song, 
though  not  so  well  as  Master  Godfried  of  Strasburg.*  I  have  gone 
through  the  initiatory  ceremonies,  and  was  dubbed  a  knight  at  Firch- 
heim.  Now  I  am  riding  to  Mayence,  where  the  emperor  is  going  to 
hold  a  tournament,  to  tumble  about  a  little  and  enjoy  life.' 

"  The  student  looked  at  the  sun's  place,  and  said : '  It  is  a  pity  that 
after  such  a  friendly  meeting  we  must  so  soon  part.  Nevertheless  it 
is  necessary,  if  we  each  design  to  fulfil  our  purpose  to-day.' 

"  '  Come  with  me  to  Mayence,'  cried  the  other,  as  he  jumped  up, 
and  eyed  the  student  with  a  singularly  compassionate  look,  which, 
however,  allowed  a  smile  to  appear.  t  Leave  that  gloomy  Ratisbon, 
and  the  cathedral  and  the  sacristy;  cheer  up  thy  face  among  jolly 
fellows,  by  the  round  table,  in  the  wine-cellar,  and  before  the  flowery 
windows  of  fair  damsels.  Let  the  sound  of  flute  and  shaum  purify 
thine  ears  of  the  awful  vigils  of  the  Templars,  who  are  considered 
mischievous  heretics  and  BafFomets'  priests  over  all  Christendom. 
Come  to  Mayence,  Peter !' 

"  He  was  already  in  his  saddle,  when  he  uttered  these  last  words, 
and  stretched  out  his  hand  as  if  in  supplication,  towards  his  friend, 

*  One  of  the  most  celebrated  poets  in  the  12th  and  13th  centuries. 


86  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

who  turned  aside  and  drew  back  his  arm  in  token  of  refusal.  '  What 
has  come  into  your  head?'  he  said,  smiling  reluctantly.  '  Ah,  friend 
Conrad,  if  I  had  already  said  every  one  has  his  appointed  way,  I 
would  cry  out  to  thee  turn  back,  thou  volatile  heedless  one !  Youth 
fades  away,  the  jest  becomes  hushed,  the  laugh  will  one  day  be  found 
suddenly  to  fail,  because  the  face  has  become  too  stiff,  or  grins  re- 
pulsively from  withered  wrinkles !  Woe  then  to  him  whose  garners 
are  not  full,  whose  chambers  are  not  stored !  Ah,  there  must  be 
something  dismal  in  such  a  base,  impoverished  old  age,  and  the  pro- 
verb is  right  which  says :  *  Those  who  at  morn  too  merry  are,  shall 
reap  at  night  sorrow  and  care.'  Looking  upon  thee  thus,  oh. 
brother  of  my  youth,  I  may  well  feel  troubled  about  thee,  for  who 
knows  in  what  altered  condition  I  may  find  thee  again.' 

"  The  knight  gave  the  student's  hand  a  hearty  shake  and  cried: 
1  Perhaps  thou  wilt  be  transformed  when  we  meet  again — wilt  be 
decked  out  in  velvet  and  satin,  and  surpass  us  all !'  He  darted  off, 
and  in  the  distance  the  student  heard  him  sing  a  song  which  was 
then  in  every  mouth,  and  sounded  something  like  this: 

'  No  fairer  flow'r,  I  vow,  is  known 
Than  that  bright  rose,  sweet  woman's  lips, 
With  such  luxuriance  swelling. 
Close-lock'd  at  first,  this  flow'ret  keeps, 
When  as  an  infant  bud  'tis  shown 
All  bold  assaults  repelling. 
But  every  flow'r  is  wash'd  by  May, 
On  rosy  lips  he  plants  a  kiss, 
And  straight  we  see  them  fully  blowing. 
Then  rosy  lips  should  find  a  kiss, 
And  every  kiss  should  in  its  day 
Find  lips  with  fondness  glowing.' 

"  A  butterfly  flew  up  before  the  student.  '  Is  not  the  life  of  most 
men,'  he  said, '  to  be  compared  to  the  fluttering  of  this  moth?  Light 
and  motley  he  goes  flaunting  about,  and  yet  how  barren  and  short 
are  his  joys.'  He  rolled  about  his  great  eyes,  but  only  an  empty 
alternation  of  light  and  shade  reached  these  dim  mirrors,  not  the  full 
form,  the  fine  colour.  The  wood  looked  on  him  from  its  green 
depths  with  an  irresistible  glance.  '  Suppose,'  he  said,  '  I  leave  my 
patient  beast  awhile  on  this  grass-plot ;  it  will  not  run  away  from 
me,  and  I  feel  the  warmest  desire  to  wander  there  for  an  hour.  How 
refreshing  it  must  be  in  the  depths  of  the  wood !' 

"  He  turned  aside  from  the  high  road  by  a  narrow  path,  which,  after 
winding  for  a  short  distance  through  the  tall  trees,  sloped  down  into 
the  wood.  Soon  he  found  himself  in  a  perfect  solitude,  with  a  rust- 
ling, whispering,  and  whining  round  him,  while  only  a  few  single 
gleams  of  sun-light  reflected  with  a  green  hue,  played  about  him  like 
ignis  fatui.  Sometimes  he  thought  he  heard  his  name  called  behind 
him  in  the  distance,  and — he  did  not  know  why — the  call  appeared  to 
him  hateful  and  repulsive.  Then  again  he  would  take  the  sound  to 
be  a  mere  delusion,  but  whatever  he  thought  he  always  got  deeper 
and  deeper  into  the  dark  forest.  Large  gnarled  roots  lay  like  snakes 
across  the  way,  stretched  out,  so  that  the  student  was  in  danger  of 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  87 

tumbling  every  moment.  Stag-beetles  stood  like  noble  game  in  the 
moor,  while  the  purest  hues  of  golden  vegetation  shone  from  little 
nooks  in  the  rocks.  The  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead,  and 
with  increasing  rapidity  he  penetrated  the  thicket,  and  fled  from  the 
bright  sunny  world  without.  It  was  not  only  the  exercise  of  walk- 
ing that  made  him  hot,  his  mind  was  also  labouring  under  a  burden 
of  heavy  recollections.  At  last,  after  the  pathway  had  long  vanished 
from  beneath  his  feet,  he  came  to  a  beautiful,  smooth,  dark  spot, 
among  some  mighty  oak-trees.  Still  he  heard  his  name  called  in 
the  distance.  '  Here,'  he  said,  '  the  rude  sound  yonder  will  no 
more  reach  me ;  here  I  shall  be  quietly  concealed.'  He  sunk  down 
upon  a  great  mossy  stone,  his  heart  heaved,  he  was  struggling  with  a 
powerful  desire.  '  Forgive  my  presumption,  great  master,'  he 
cried,  '  but  there  is  a  knowledge  which  must  be  followed  by  action, 
otherwise  it  crushes  a  mortal.  Here,  nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  great 
mother,  where  amid  sprouting  and  growing,  her  pulse  beats  more 
audibly, — here  must  I  utter  the  magic  word,  which  I  heard  from  thy 
sleeping  lips,  when  thou  spakest  it  in  a  dream;  the  word,  at  the 
sound  of  which  the  creature  casts  aside  its  veil,  the  powers  which 
labour  beneath  bark  and  hide,  and  in  the  kernel  of  the  rock,  be- 
come visible,  and  the  language  of  birds  becomes  intelligible  to  the 
ear/ 

"  His  lips  already  quivered  to  utter  the  word,  but  he  restrained 
himself,  for  there  appeared  before  his  eyes  the  sorrowful  glance  with 
which  his  great  master,  Albertus,  had  entreated  him  to  make  no  use 
of  the  art  he  had  accidentally  acquired,  since  heavy  things  impended 
over  him  who  uttered  the  magic  word  designedly. 

"  Nevertheless,  he  did  call  it  out  loudly  into  the  wood,  as  if  the 
prohibition  and  his  own  fear  had  given  it  additional  force,  and  while 
he  did  so,  he  stretched  out  his  right  hand. 

"  At  once  he  felt  a  blow  and  a  jerk,  that  made  him  think  he  had 
been  struck  by  lightning.  His  eyes  were  blinded,  and  it  seemed  as 
though  a  violent  whirlwind  was  hurling  him  through  the  immeasur- 
able space.  As  terrified  and  giddy  he  felt  about  him  with  his  hands, 
he  touched  indeed  the  mossy  stone  on  which  he  had  been  standing, 
and  therefore  in  his  mind  regained  the  earth,  but  now  he  had  a  new 
and  unpleasant  sign.  For  as  previously  he  had  been  flung  about 
the  universe  like  an  atom,  it  now  seemed  to  him  as  if  his  body  were 
infinitely  extended.  Amid  the  most  frightful  agonies,  this  newly- 
wakened  power  forced  his  limbs  to  such  a  monstrous  size,  that  he 
thought  he  must  be  touching  the  sky.  The  bones  of  his  head  and 
chest  were  become  as  capacious  as  temples ;  into  his  ears  fell  strange, 
heavenly  sounds  of  distracting  effect,  and  he  said  to  himself:  '  That 
is  the  song  of  the  stars  in  their  golden  orbits.'  The  pains  at  last 
were  exchanged  for  a  titillating  pleasurable  sensation,  during  which 
lie  felt  his  body  again  shrink  up  to  its  ordinary  size,  while  the  gi- 
gantic form  remained  standing  around  him  like  an  outer  shell,  or  a 
kind  of  atmosphere  in  aerial  outline.  The  darkness  left  his  eyes, 
while  great,  yellow-shining  surfaces  of  light,  as  with  the  sensation  of 


88  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

dazzling,  freed  themselves  from  the  pupils  and  glided  into  the  corners, 
where  they  gradually  disappeared. 

"  While  he  thus  regained  his  sight,  a  clear-toned,  sweet  chorus — 
he  did  not  know  whether  it  was  the  birds  alone,  or  whether  the 
boughs,  bushes,  and  grasses  joined  in — sang  quite  plainly  round  him : 

«  Yes,  he  shall  hear  it, 
Yes,  he  must  bear  it; 
To  us  he  belongs  alone. 
Soon  will  he 
By  the  green-wood  tree, 
Be  dumb  and  cold  as  a  stone.' 

"  In  the  block  of  mossy  rock  a  light  murmuring  was  audible.  It 
seemed  as  though  the  stone  wished  to  move  itself  and  could  not,  like 
one  in  a  trance.  The  student  looked  upon  its  surface,  and  lo !  the 
green  and  red  veins  were  running  together  into  a  very  ancient  coun- 
tenance, which  from  its  weary  eyes  looked  upon  him  with  such  a 
mournful  and  supplicating  aspect,  that  he  turned  aside  with  horror, 
and  sought  consolation  among  the  trees,  plants,  and  birds. 

"Among  these  all  was  changed  likewise.  When  he  trod  on 
the  short  brown  moss,  it  shrieked  and  groaned  at  the  ungentle 
pressure,  and  he  saw  how  it  wrung  its  little  hairy  hands  and 
shake  its  green  or  yellow  heads.  The  stems  of  the  plants  and 
the  trunks  of  the  trees  were  in  a  constant  spiral  motion,  and  at 
the  same  time  the  bark,  or  the  outer  skin,  allowed  him  to  look 
into  the  inside,  where  little  sprites  were  pouring  fine  glistening 
drops  into  the  tubes.  The  clear  fluid  ran  from  tube  to  tube,  while 
valves  unceasingly  opened  and  shut,  until  in  the  capillary  tubes 
of  the  leaves  at  the  very  top,  it  was  transformed  to  a  green  bloom. 
Soft  explosions  and  fire  now  arose  in  the  veins  of  the  leaves;  their 
finely  cut  lips  ceaselessly  breathed  forth  a  kind  of  ethereal  flame, 
while  ceaselessly  also  the  heavier  part  of  those  igneous  phenomena 
glided  about  the  leaves  in  soft  waves  of  vapour.  In  the  blue-bell 
flowers  that  were  on  the  damp  soil  there  was  a  ringing  and  singing ; 
they  consoled  the  poor  old  face  of  stone  with  a  lively  song,  and  told 
him  that  if  they  could  only  free  themselves  from  the  ground  they 
would  with  right  good  will  release  him.  Out  of  the  air  strange 
green,  red,  and  yellow  signs,  which  seemed  about  to  join  themselves 
to  some  form,  and  then  again  were  dissipated,  peered  at  the  student; 
worms  and  chafers  crawled  or  stepped  to  him  on  every  side,  uttering 
all  sorts  of  confused  petitions.  One  wished  to  be  this,  another  that ; 
one  wished  for  a  new  cover  to  his  wings,  another  had  broken  his 
proboscis ;  those  that  were  accustomed  to  float  in  the  air  begged  for 
sunshine,  those  that  crawled,  for  damp.  All  this  rabble  of  insects 
called  him  their  deity,  so  that  his  brain  was  nearly  turned. 

"  Among  the  birds  there  was  no  end  to  the  chirping,  twittering, 
and  tale-telling.  A  spotted  woodpecker  clambered  up  and  down  the 
bark  of  an  oak,  hacked  and  picked  after  the  worms,  and  was  never 
tired  of  crying :  *  I  am  the  forester,  I  must  take  care  of  the  wood.1 
The  wren  said  to  the  finch :  *  There  is  no  more  friendship  among 
us.  The  peacock  will  not  allow  me  to  strike  a  circle,  thinking  that 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  89 

no  one  has  a  right  to  do  so  but  himself,  and  therefore  he  has  accused 
me  to  the  supreme  tribunal.  Nevertheless  I  can  strike  as  good  a 
circle  as  he  with  my  little  brown  tail.'  *  Leave  me  alone,'  replied 
the  finch,  *  I  eat  my  grain  and  care  for  nothing  else.  I  have  cares 
of  quite  another  sort.  The  proper  artistical  melody  I  can  only  add 
to  my  native  woodland  song  when  they  have  blinded  me,  but  it  is  a 
terrible  thing  that  no  good  can  fee  done  with  one  unless  one  is  so 
horribly  maimed.'  Others  chattered  about  thefts  and  murders, 
which  no  one  but  the  birds  had  seen. 

'  Over  the  road  they  fly, 
Traced  by  no  mortal  eye/ 

"  Then  they  perched  themselves  stiffly  on  the  branches  and  peeped 
down  mockingly  at  the  scholar,  while  two  impudent  titmice  cried 
out:  'There  stands  the  conjurer  listening  to  us  and  cannot  make 
out  what  has  happened  to  him.'  '  Well,  how  he  will  stare !' 
screamed  the  whole  troop,  and  off  they  flew  with  a  chirping  which 
sounded  half  like  laughter. 

"  The  scholar  now  felt  something  thrown  in  his  face,  and  looking 
up,  saw  an  ill-bred  squirrel  that  had  flung  a  hollow  nut  at  his  fore- 
head, and  now  lay  flat  with  his  belly  upon  the  bough,  staring  him 
full  in  the  face,  and  crying :  4  The  full  one  for  me,  the  hollow  for 
thee !'  '  Ye  misbehaved  rabble,  let  the  strange  gentleman  alone,' 
cried  a  black  and  white  magpie  that  came  wagging  her  tail  up  to 
him,  through  the  grass.  She  then  seated  herself  on  the  student's 
shoulder,  and  said  into  his  ear:  '  You  must  not  judge  of  us  all  ac- 
cording to  these  uncourteous  beasts,  learned  sir,  there  are  well  bred 
folks  among  us.  Only  see,  through  that  aperture,  yonder  wise  gen- 
tleman, the  wild  boar,  how  quietly  he  stands  and  eats  his  acorns,  and 
fosters  his  thoughts  in  silence.  Willingly  I  will  give  you  my  com- 
pany and  tell  you  all  that  I  know,  for  talking  is  my  delight,  espe- 
cially with  old  people.' 

"  '  There  you  are  out  in  your  reckoning,'  said  the  student,  '  I  am 
still  young.' 

"  *  Heavens,  how  men  can  deceive  themselves,'  cried  the  magpie, 
and  she  looked  very  thoughtful. 

"The  student  now  thought  he  heard,  from  the  depth  of  the  wood, 
a  sigh,  the  sound  of  which  penetrated  his  heart.  He  asked  the  cause 
of  his  white  and  black  companion,  and  she  told  him  she  would  ask 
two  lizards,  who  were  eating  their  breakfast.  He  accordingly  went, 
with  the  magpie  on  his  shoulder,  to  the  place  where  these  creatures 
were  to  be  found,  and  beheld  a  very  pretty  sight.  The  two  lizards, 
sure  enough,  were  genteel  young  ladies,  for  they  sat  under  a  great 
mushroom,  which  stretched  its  golden  yellow  roof  over  them  like  a 
splendid  marquee.  There  they  sat  imbibing,  with  their  little  brown 
tongues,  the  dew  from  the  grass,  and  then  wiping  their  mouths  with 
one  of  the  blades,  they  went  to  take  a  walk  together  in  a  neighbour- 
ing grove  of  fern,  which  seemingly  belonged  to  the  one  who  had  in- 
vited her  friend  to  the  visit.  4  Shack !  shack !'  cried  the  magpie, 


90  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

*  the  gentleman  wants  to  know  who  it  was  that  sighed.'     The  lizards 
raised  their  heads,  waggled  their  tails  and  cried, 

*  In  the  bower  by  the  spring  the  Princess  sleeps; 
Safely  the  spider  the  lady  keeps.' 

"  '  Hem,'  said  the  magpie,  shaking  her  head,  '  to  think  that  one 
can  be  so  forgetful.  To  be  sure  in  the  adjoining  beechen-bower 
slumbers  the  fair  Princess  Doralice,  about  whom  wicked  King  Spider 
has  spun  his  web.  Oh,  if  you  could  save  her,  learned  sir !'  The 
student's  heart  was  stirred,  and  he  asked  the  magpie  where  the  bower 
was.  The  bird  flew  before  him,  from  bough  to  bough,  to  show  him 
the  way,  till  at  last  they  came  to  a  quiet  meadow,  enclosed  all  round, 
through  which  a  streamlet,  taking  its  source  from  a  cleft  in  the  rocks, 
was  flowing  among  some  pretty  bowers  formed  by  beech-trees. 
These  trees  had  struck  their  branches  into  the  earth,  and  thus  arched 
over  the  ground  like  a  roof,  through  which  the  fine  leaves  of  the 
fern  were  peering  forth,  forming  as  it  were  the  gables  and  loopholes 
of  the  little  leafy  dwelling.  Upon  these  the  magpie  sprang,  peeped 
through  a  loophole,  and  whispered  mysteriously,  '  Here  sleeps  the 
princess !"  The  student  approached  with  beating  heart,  knelt  before 
the  opening  of  the  bower  and  looked  within.  Ah,  there  was  a  sight 
that  set  his  whole  soul  and  senses  into  a  commotion  more  violent 
than  when  he  uttered  the  magical  word !  On  the  moss,  which  rose 
like  a  pillow  round  its  fair  burden,  the  loveliest  maiden  was  lying 
asleep.  Her  head  was  somewhat  raised,  one  arm  was  placed  under 
it,  and  her  white  fingers  glistened  through  the  gold-brown  hair, 
which  in  long  soft  streams  delicately  wound  about  her  neck  and 
bosom.  With  unspeakable  delight  and,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  melancholy  the  student  gazed  upon  the  noble  face,  the  purple 
lips,  the  full  white  limbs,  which  cast  a  bright  reflection  on  the  dark 
moss.  The  circumstance  that  the  sleeper,  as  if  oppressed  by  some 
mysterious  weight,  appeared  to  breathe  in  a  soft  agony,  only  ren- 
dered her  more  charming  in  his  eyes ;  he  felt  that  his  heart  was  cap- 
tivated for  ever,  and  that  those  lips  alone  could  still  his  passion. 

*  Is  it  not  a  shame,'  said  the  magpie,  as  she  hopped  through  the 
hole  into  the  bower  and  perched  on  the  sleeper's  arm, ( that  so  lovely 
a  princess  should  thus  be  bound  by  a  web?'     '  A  web?'  asked  the 
student;    'she  is  indeed  lying   there  wrapped  in  her  white  veil.' 
'  Oh,  folly !'  cried  the  magpie,  *  I  tell  you  that  is  all  cobweb,  and 
King  Spider  made  it.'     '  But  who  is  King  Spider?' 

"  *  In  his  human  state  he  was  a  wealthy  maker  of  yarn,'  replied 
the  magpie,  pleasantly  wagging  her  tail.  '  His  factory  was  not 
distant  from  here,  being  by  the  river-side  without  the  wood,  and 
about  a  hundred  workmen  spun  under  him.  The  yarn  they  used  to 
wash  in  the  stream.  This  was  the  dwelling-place  of  the  Nixy,  who 
was  very  much  enraged,  that  they  troubled  his  clear  waters  with 
their  filthy  washing,  especially  as  all  his  children,  the  trout  and  the 
smelts,  died  from  the  carious  matter:  he  tangled  the  yarn,  the  waves 
were  forced  to  cast  it  over  the  shore,  he  drove  it  downwards  into 
the  whirlpool  to  warn  the  master-spinner,  but  all  was  in  vain.  At 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  91 

last,  on  Midsummer-day,  when  the  river-spirits  have  power  to 
frighten  and  to  injure,  he  sprinkled  some  magic  water  in  the  faces 
of  the  whole  troop  of  spinners  and  their  chief,  as  they  were  carrying 
on  their  washing  as  boldly  and  unscrupulously  as  ever,  and  just  as 
bloodthirsty  men  may  be  changed  into  wear-wolves,  and  wear-cats, 
so  did  they  become  wear-spiders.  They  all  ran  from  the  river  to 
the  wood,  and  were  hanging  everywhere  from  the  trees  and  bushes 
by  their  web.  The  workmen  have  become  diminutive  spiders,  and 
catch  flies  and  gnats,  but  their  master  has  retained  nearly  his  former 
size,  and  is  called  the  spider-king.  He  lies  in  watch  for  pretty  girls, 
spins  his  web  round  them,  lulls  their  senses  with  his  poisonous  ex- 
halations, and  then  sucks  the  blood  from  their  hearts.  At  last  he 
overcame  this  princess,  who  had  strayed  from  her  retinue  in  the 
wood.  See,  there,  there,  he  is  stirring  among  the  bushes." 

"  And  indeed  it  seemed  to  the  student  as  if  he  saw  glimmering 
through  the  branches,  right  opposite  to  him,  the  body  of  a  gigantic 
spider ;  two  hairy  feet,  as  thick  as  human  arms,  were  working  their 
way  through  the  foliage.  He  felt  dreadfully  alarmed  for  the  lovely 
sleeper,  and  wished  to  oppose  the  monster.  *  Vain  is  your  at- 
tempt !'  cried  the  magpie,  flapping  her  wings ;  '  all  enchanted 
men  have  fearful  power,  and  this  monster  could  strangle  you  with 
his  web;  however,  strew  some  fern-seed  on  the  breast  of  the  fair 
one;  that  will  make  her  invisible  to  the  spider-king,  and  so  long  as 
any  particle  of  it  remains,  its  virtue  will  last.'  In  the  greatest 
haste  the  student  rubbed  the  brown  dust  from  the  under  surface  of 
a  fern-leaf,  and  did  as  the  bird  had  desired.  While  during  this  act, 
he  bent  over  the  sleeper,  his  cheek  felt  her  breath.  Enraptured,  he 
cried,  '  Are  there  no  means  of  freeing  this  beloved  form  ?'  '  Oh,' 
screamed  the  bird,  as  she  madly  flew  round  the  student  with  a  sort 
of  zig-zag  motion,  '  if  you  ask  me  about  means,  there  are  many  in- 
deed. Our  wise  old  man  in  the  cleft  has  the  yew-tree  in  keeping, 
and  if  you  can  get  a  branch  of  that,  and  with  it  touch  the  fair  one 
thrice  upon  the  forehead,  all  her  bonds  will  be  dissolved : 

'  Before  the  yew  tree, 
All  magic  must  flee.' 

She  will  then  sink  in  your  arms,  and  belong  to  you,  as  her  deliverer/ 
"  At  this  moment  it  seemed  as  though  the  sleeper  heard  the  bird's 
discourse.  Her  beautiful  face  was  suffused  with  a  delicate  redness, 
and  her  features  took  the  expression  of  an  ineffable  desire.  '  Lead 
me  to  the  wise  old  man !'  cried  the  student,  half  beside  himself. 

"  The  bird  hopped  into  the  bushes,  and  the  student  hurried  after 
her.  The  magpie  fluttered  up  a  narrow  rocky  path  which  soon  led 
over  a  marsh  and  wildly  scattered  blocks  of  stones,  with  great  peril  to 
the  traveller.  The  student  was  forced  to  clamber  from  block  to  block 
that  he  might  not  sink  into  the  marsh.  His  knees  trembled,  his  heart 
heaved,  his  temples  were  bathed  in  a  cold  sweat.  As  he  hastened  along 
he  plucked  off  flowers  and  leaves  and  sprinkled  them  on  the  stones 
that  he  might  again  find  his  way.  At  last  he  stood  on  an  eminence  of 
considerable  height  upon  a  spacious  rocky  portal,  from  the  dark 


92  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

hollow  of  which  an  icy^-cold  breeze  blew  towards  him.  Here  nature 
seemed  to  be  in  her  primitive  state  of  fermention,  so  fearfully  and  in 
such  wild  disorder  did  the  masses  of  stone  stand  over,  by,  and  before 
the  cavern. 

"  *  Here  dwells  our  wise  man  !f  cried  the  magpie,  while  she  bris- 
tled up  her  feathers  from  her  head  to  her  tail,  which  gave  her  a 
most  unpleasant  and  repulsive  appearance,  '  I  will  announce  you, 
and  ask  how  he  feels  disposed  as  to  your  wish.'  With  these  words, 
she  slipped  into  the  hollow,  and  almost  immediately  jumped  back 
again,  crying,  '  The  old  man  is  peevish  and  obstinate,  and  he  will 
not  give  you  the  bough  of  yew,  unless  you  stop  up  all  the  chinks  in 
the  cavern,  for  he  says  the  draught  annoys  him.  Before  you  can  do 
this,  many  years  may  have  passed.' 

"  The  student  plucked  up  as  much  of  the  moss  and  herbage  as  he 
could,  and,  not  without  a  feeling  of  dread,  entered  the  cavern. 
Within  strangely-shaped  stalactites  were  staring  at  him  from  the 
walls,  and  he  did  not  know  where  to  turn  his  eyes  to  avoid  these 
hideous  forms.  He  wished  to  penetrate  deeper  by  the  rocky 
path,  but  from  the  further  corner  a  voice  snorted  forth  to  him: 
4  Back !  disturb  me  not  in  my  researches,  pursue  thy  occupation 
there  in  the  front !'  He  wished  to  discover  who  was  speaking,  but 
only  saw  a  pair  of  red  fiery  eyes,  that  shone  out  of  the  darkness. 
He  now  set  about  his  task,  stopped  up  with  moss  and  herbage  every 
chink  through  which  a  glimmer  of  daylight  passed,  but  this  was  a 
difficult,  and — as  it  seemed  to  him — an  endless  task.  For  when  he 
thought  he  had  done  with  one  cranny  and  might  turn  to  another, 
the  stopping  fell  out,  and  he  was  obliged  to  begin  anew.  The 
snorting  thing  at  the  back  of  the  cavern  went  on  rattling  out  sounds 
without  meaning,  only  occasionally  uttering  intelligible  words,  which 
seemed  to  denote  that  the  creature  was  boasting  of  its  deep  inves- 
tigations. 

"  Time  appeared  to  the  student  to  be  hastening  along  with  the 
greatest  rapidity,  while  he  was  pursuing  his  work  of  despair.  Days, 
weeks,  months,  years,  seemed  to  come  and  go,  and  yet  he  felt  nothing 
like  hunger  or  thirst.  He  fancied  he  was  nearly  mad,  and  with  a 
kind  of  feigned  passion,  quietly  repeated  to  himself  the  year  in 
which  he  had  entered  the  wood,  and  that  it  was  on  the  day  of  Peter 
and  Paul,  that  he  might  not  lose  all  notion  of  time.  The  image  of 
his  beloved  sleeper  appeared  to  him  as  from  a  far  distance,  he  wept 
with  desire  and  sorrow,  and  yet  he  felt  no  tears  flowing  down  his 
cheeks.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  saw  a  well-known 
figure  approach  the  sleeper,  contemplate  her  with  rapture,  and 
then  bend  over  her  as  if  to  kiss  her.  At  this  moment  he  was  en- 
tirely conscious  of  pain  and  jealousy,  and,  forgetting  all  around  him, 
he  darted  towards  the  dark  background  of  the  cavern.  '  The  yew- 
branch  !'  he  cried,  eagerly.  4  There  it  grows,'  said  the  glaring 
snorting  thing,  and  at  the  same  time  he  felt  in  his  hand  the  branch 
of  a  tree,  which  grew  from  a  dark  chink  in  the  grotto.  He  was  in 
the  act  of  breaking  one  of  the  branches,  when  he  heard  a  whimper- 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  93 

ing  noise  around  Kim,  the  glaring  creature  snorted  louder  than  ever, 
the  cavern  reeled,  shook,  and  fell  in,  all  became  dark  in  the  eyes  of 
the  student,  and  he  involuntarily  shouted  out : 

*  Before  the  yew  tree, 
All  magic  must  flee.' 

"  When  his  eyes  again  became  clear,  he  looked  around  him.  A 
dry,  strangely-discoloured  stick  was  in  his  hand.  He  stood  amid  a 
heap  of  stones,  which  arched  themselves  to  a  cavern,  which  was  not 
very  large.  In  the  depth  of  it  he  heard  shrill,  piping  sounds,  like  those 
commonly  uttered  by  great  owls.  The  place  around  seemed  changed. 
It  was  a  moderate  eminence,  bare,  and  scanty,  and  sprinkled  over 
with  stones  of  no  remarkable  magnitude,  between  which  the  path 
by  which  he  had  ascended,  led  on  one  side,  through  the  damp 
soil,  to  the  abyss.  Of  the  large  blocks  of  rock,  nothing  more  was  to 
be  seen.  He  was  freezing  with  cold,  although  the  sun  was  high  in 
the  heavens,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  in  the  same  place  as  when  he 
went  out  to  fetch  the  bough,  which  had  now  become  a  withered 
stick  in  his  hand.  Stepping  over  the  stones,  he  went  down  the 
path ;  the  journey  seemed  wearisome,  he  was  obliged  to  support  him- 
self on  the  stick,  his  head  hung  down  on  his  breast,  and  lie  heard 
his  breath,  as  it  struggled  forth  with  difficulty.  On  a  slippery  part 
of  the  pathway  his  foot  slid,  and  he  was  obliged  to  cling  to  the 
hedge.  In  this  act  his  hand  came  close  to  his  eye,  and  appeared 
gray  and  wrinkled.  *  Good  God !'  cried  he,  seized  with  horror, 

*  have  I  then  so  long ?'     He  did  not  dare  to  utter  his  own 

thoughts.  'No,'  said  he,  forcibly  calming  himself,  '  it  is  the 
cold  wood-breeze  that  so  freezes  me;  the  exertion  has  made  me 
weak,  and  the  broken  greenish  light,  which  falls  through  the  hedges, 
gives  my  hands  this  singular  colour.'  He  stepped  farther,  and  saw, 
lying  on  the  stones,  the  wild  flowers  and  leaves,  which  he  had 
thrown,  on  his  ascent,  to  mark  the  way.  They  were  as  fresh  as  if 
they  had  been  but  just  placed  there.  This'  was  a  new  riddle  for 
him.  A  charcoal-burner  was  chopping  away  the  trees  by  the  way- 
side, and  cutting  off  branches;  so  he  asked  him  what  day  it  was. 
4  Eh,  father,'  said  the  man,  '  are  you  such  a  bad  Christian,  that 
you  do  not  know  the  Apostles'  days?  This  is  Peter  and  Paul's 
day,  when  the  stag  leaves  the  wood  for  the  corn.  I  am  cutting  out 
a  toy  for  my  young  one,  out  of  the  veiny  bough.  For  any  other 
purpose,  I  do  not  work  on  this  day :  but  that  is  all  for  pleasure  and 
pastime,  and  is  allowed,  says  the  chaplain.'  W4 

"  *  I  pray  you,  my  good  fellow,'  said  the  student,  who  felt  a  sensa- 
tion of  horror,  more  and  more  painful,  pervading  him,  '  tell  in 
what  year  of  our  Lord  we  are !'  The  charcoal-burner,  whom  even 
the  holiday's  wash  had  not  quite  freed  from  soot,  raised  up  his 
strong-limbed  black  figure  frcm  among  the  green  bushes,  and,  after 
some  hesitation,  told  the  year. 

"  *  Oh,  my  Redeemer!'   shrieked  the  student,  and,  no   longer 


94  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

supported  by  his  stick,  he  fell  upon  the  stones.     He  then  cast  the 
Stick  away,  and  crawled  trembling  down  the  stony  path. 

The  black  charcoal-burner,  amazed,  came  out  of  the  hedge  upon 
the  stones,  with  the  branch  in  his  hand,  saw  the  stick  lying  before 
nim,  crossed  himself,  and  said:  'That  is  off  the  yew-tree,  which 
grows  yonder  on  the  Eulenstein,  where  the  owl  has  his  nest.  They 
say  that  it  will  enchant,  and  free  that  which  is  enchanted  already. 
God  help  us !  the  old  man  has  uttered  wicked  things.'  He  then  re- 
turned to  the  bushes,  to  go  to  his  hut,  and  cut  the  plaything  for  his 
boy. 

"  In  the  pleasant  woodland  meadow  below,  near  the  beechen 
arbour,  and  by  the  clear  brook,  which  had  there  washed  its  banks  to 
a  wide  basin,  sat  the  young  knight,  Conrad,  and  the  fair  one  whom 
he  had  awakened  from  slumber  without  any  magic  arts.  The  red, 
blue,  and  yellow  flower-cups  pressed  forth  out  of  the  grass  around 
them,  and  the  pair  bloomed  in  youth  and  beauty — the  knight  in 
gay  accoutrements,  the  maiden  in  her  silver-bright  veil,  as  the  fairest 
flower  that  decked  the  enamel.  He  had  his  arm  gently  round  her 
waist,  and  said,  looking  with  every  appearance  of  sincerity  into  her 
eye :  '  By  the  ashes  of  my  dear  mother,  and  by  the  holy  sign  on 
the  hilt  of  this  sword,  I  am,  as  I  have  named  myself  to  thee,  lord  of 
castles,  and  ruler  of  my  own  life,  and  I  entreat  thee,  thou  lovely 
wonder  of  this  forest,  to  let  thy  lips  speak  the  word  which  shall 
make  me  thine  for  ever,  with  the  blessing  of  the  priest  before  the 
altar.' 

"  '  And  what  word  dost  thou  desire?'  said  the  fair  one,  as  she 
modestly  lowered  her  eye-lashes.  '  Have  not  my  eye,  my  cheek,  my 
palpitating  bosom  told  all?  Love*  is  a  powerful  queen,  she  pursues 
her  path  unawares,  and  seizes  whom  she  pleases,  without  suffering 
resistance.  Conduct  me,  before  the  decline  of  day,  to  the  pious  ab- 
bess of  the  cloister  at  Odenwald,  she  will  take  me  under  her  protec- 
tion, and  there  will  I  abide  between  quiet  walls,  till  you  come,  and 
fetch  me  to  your  home.' 

"  She  was  about  to  rise,  but  the  young  knight  softly  detained  her, 
and  said,  '  Let  us  yet  remain  a  few  moments  in  this  spot  where  my 
happiness  sprang  up,  like  a  golden  legend.  I  still  fear  that  you  will 
vanish  from  my  sight,  like  some  charming  wood  nymph.  Help  me  to 
believe  in  thee  and  thy  lovely  mortality.  How  didst  thou  come 
hither?  What  had  befallen  thee?' 

"  4  This  morning,'  replied  the  fair  one,  *  I  had  fled  into  the  forest 
from  my  guardian,  Count  Archimbald,  whose  wicked  designs, 
whether  upon  me  or  my  property  I  know  not,  were  suddenly  most 
frightfully  apparent.  Of  what  use  is  a  rich  inheritance  to  youth  and 

*  The  old  word  for  "lore"  Minne,  from  which  "  Minnesanger"  is  derived,  is  fe- 
minine. 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  95 

woman?  She  is  always  left  to  herself  and  unprotected.  I  wished 
to  fly  to  the  abbess,  I  wished  to  apply  to  the  emperor  at  Mayence, 
indeed  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  wished.  Thus  I  came  into  these 
green  halls  of  trees,  my  thoughts  were  not  directed  to  the  true  Aid, 
my  thoughts  were  at  war  with  Heaven.  Suddenly,  while  I  saw  this 
meadow  already  before  me,  I  fancied  that  something  was  spoken 
over  yonder  in  the  bushes,  upon  which  I  felt  myself  and  all  around 
me  transformed.  I  cannot  describe  the  word  nor  the  sound  of  it,  my 
beloved.  The  song  of  the  nightingale  is  harsh  to  its  sweetness,  and 
the  rolling  of  the  thunder  is  but  a  weak  whisper  compared  to  it.  It 
was  certainly  the  most  mysterious  and  the  most  compulsory  com- 
munication which  is  possible  between  heaven  and  earth.  On  me  it 
exercised  an  irresistible  power,  as  it  fell  into  a  mind  that  had  lost  all 
self-control,  into  the  tumult  of  my  senses,  and  there  was  in  me  no 
holy  thought  to  oppose  it.  My  eyes  closed,  and  yet  I  could  see  the 
path  before  me,  which  my  feet,  as  though  conducted  by  soft,  in- 
visible hands,  were  forced  to  tread.  I  slept  and  yet  I  did  not  sleep ; 
it  was  an  indescribable  situation  under  the  influence  of  which  I  at 
length  sank  down  on  the  soft  recess  in  yonder  arbour.  Every  thing 
around  me  was  speaking  and  singing,  I  felt  within  me  the  billow- 
like  commotion  of  the  most  tumultuous  rapture,  every  drop  of  my 
blood  flashed  and  danced  through  my  veins,  and  yet  in  the  depth  of 
my  soul  there  was  the  most  extreme  horror  at  my  state,  and  the 
most  ardent  prayer  for  an  awakening  from  my  slumber.  I  perceived 
at  the  same  time  that  nothing  of  the  horror  appeared  in  my  face,  for 
strange  to  say  I  could  look  at  myself,  and  I  saw  that  my  cheeks 
smiled  with  delight,  as  if  songs  of  heavenly  joy  were  sung  to  me. 
The  sensation  of  pleasure  penetrated  deeper  and  deeper  into  my 
heart,  that  of  horror  receded  more  and  more,  and  I  felt  dreadfully 
alarmed  lest  this  one  small  point  should  be  totally  extinguished,  and 
I  should  have  nothing  but  pleasure.  In  this  state  of  trouble,  and 
apparently  the  loss  of  all  consciousness,  I  vowed  that  I  would  belong 
to  him,  who  should  awaken  and  deliver  me.  I  now  perceived 
through  my  closed  eyelids  a  dark  form  stooping  over  me.  The  form 
was  large  and  noble,  and  yet  I  felt  a  deep  repugnance  towards  this 
person,  while  the  thought  that  it  might  be  he,  who  had  uttered  the 
fatal  word  passed  through  my  mind  like  a  shadow;  nevertheless  I 
still  cried  out,  silently  indeed,  but  yet  loudly,  to  myself,  '  If  he 
wakens  thee  and  delivers  thee,  thou  must  belong  to  him  for  this  in- 
effable benefit,  for  thouh  ast  vowed  it.'  He  did  not  awaken  me !' 

"  '  I — I  have  awakened  thee,  my  dearest  love,  and  not  by  charms 
and  benedictions,  no ;  but  with  a  burning  kiss  on  thy  red  lips  1' 
cried  the  young  knight,  with  transport,  as  he  embraced  the  fair 
Emma.  '  Strange  have  been  the  wonders  in  the  Spessart  which 
have  brought  us  together.  On  the  highway  yonder  I  had  parted 
from  my  dear  friend  Peter,  after  the  strangest  and  most  intricate 
discussion.  When  I  had  proceeded  a  few  hundred  paces  I  sud- 
denly felt  very  uneasy  about  him,  so  I  alighted,  and  wished  again 


96  THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART. 

and  again  to  exhort  him  to  leave  his  dark  ways,  and  go  with  me  to 
Mayence.  As  soon  as  I  turned,  I  saw  him  slip  into  the  wood.  I 
cried  his  name,  but  he  heard  me  not.  My  spurs  hindered  me  from 
walking  fast ;  I  could  only  follow  him  in  the  distance,  but  never- 
theless I  did  not  desist  from  calling  after  him,  although  it  was  all  in 
vain.  At  last  I  lost  sight  of  his  black  cloak  among  the  trees.  The 
beautiful  green  meadow  was  sparkling  before  me,  and  I  wished  to 
look  at  the  bright  radiance  of  the  flowers,  so  I  came  hither,  after 
looking  for  my  friend  in  every  direction.  In  the  wood  around  me, 
there  was  a  constant  stirring  and  waving  from  the  breezes,  the 
worms  were  all  in  motion,  the  birds  chirped  and  fluttered  in  a  man- 
ner quite  peculiar.  However  there  was  no  influence  over  me,  pro- 
bably because  I  was  thinking  of  the  plain  good  path  to  which  I 
would  willingly  bring  Peter.  When  I  found  thee  sleeping,  the 
most  acute  pity,  together  with  the  power  of  the  sweetest  love, 
affected  my  heart,  and  I  felt  joyous.  I  nevertheless  shed  the  most 
scalding  tears  that  ever  flowed  from  my  lively  eyes.  I  think  I  was 
allowed  to  peep  into  the  corner,  where  that  horror  thou  speakest  of, 
dwelt.  Sobbing  and  laughing  at  the  same  time,  I  cried 

*  I  vow  there's  not  a  flow'r  that  blows, 
Can  rival  woman's  rosy  lips, 
Where  ev'ry  sweet  is  dwelling. 
The  rose  at  May's  soft  kisses  glows, 
And  sure  a  kiss  should  grace  those  lips 
So  fondly,  sweetly  swelling.' 

"  '  And  then  my  lips,  in  God's  name,  gave  thine  their  greeting.' 

"  l  And  the  fetters  fell  from  me,  I  awoke,  and  my  first  glance  met 
thy  faithful,  weeping  eye,'  cried  the  fair  Emma.  '  I  thanked  God, 
on  whose  name  I  again  thought,  for  my  deliverance  ;  and  then  I 
thanked  Him  that  it  was  thou,  and  not  that  dark  man,  that  had  de- 
livered me.' 

"  The  young  knight  became  thoughtful.  '  I  fear/  said  he,  '  that 
all  the  mysterious  wonders  of  this  wood  stand  in  connexion  with 
Peter.  I  fear  that  on  this  day,  when  I  have  gained  my  love,  I  have 
lost  my  friend.  What  can  have  become  of  him?' 

"  The  youthful  pair  started  from  each  other,  for  they  saw  in  the 
water  at  their  feet,  between  their  own  blooming  heads,  an  icy  gray, 
aged  one  reflected.  *  Here  he  is,'  said  a  trembling,  stooping  old 
man,  with  hair  as  white  as  snow,  who  stood  behind  them.  He  wore 
the  new  black  cloak  of  the  student. 

"  '  Yes/  said  the  old  man,  with  weak,  faint  voice,  *  I  am  thy 
friend,  Peter  of  Stetten.  I  have  stood  long  behind  you,  and  I  have 
heard  your  converse,  and  our  fates  are  clear  enough.  It  is  still  the 
day  of  Peter  and  Paul,  on  which  we  met  and  parted  on  the  high- 
way, which  is  scarcely  a  thousand  paces  from  here,  and  since  we 
parted,  perhaps  an  hour  may  have  elapsed,  for  the  shadow  which 
yonder  hedge  casts  upon  the  turf,  is  but  a  little  increased.  Before 
that  hour  we  were  four-and-twenty  years  of  age;  but  during  that 


THE  WONDERS  IN  THE  SPESSART.  97 

hour  you  have  become  sixty  minutes  older,  and  I  sixty  years.  I  am 
now  four-and-eighty.  Thus  do  we  see  each  other  again;  indeed  I 
did  not  think  it.' 

"  Conrad  and  Emma  had  arisen.  She  clung  timidly  to  her  lover, 
and  said  softly :  '  It  is  a  poor  madman.'  But  the  old  man  said : 
4  No,  fair  Emma,  I  am  not  mad.  I  have  loved  thee;  my  spell 
influenced  thee,  and  thou  mightest  have  been  mine,  had  I  been  per- 
mitted to  kiss  thy  rosy  lips  in  God's  name — the  only  benediction  by 
which  fair  love  may  be  awakened.  Instead  of  this,  I  was  forced  to 
go  in  quest  of  the  yew-bough,  and  to  keep  the  wind  and  weather 
out  of  the  owl's  cave.  All  has  happened  of  necessity.  He  has 
gained  the  bride,  I  have  gained — death.' 

"  Conrad  had  been  looking  with  fixed  eyes  at  the  countenance  of 
the  old  man,  to  see  if  he  could  detect  among  the  wrinkles  one 
former  lineament  of  the  friend  of  his  youth.  At  last  he  stam- 
mered forth:  '  I  entreat  thee,  man,  tell  us  how  this  transformation 
was  brought  about,  lest  our  brains  be  turned,  and  we  do  something 
frightful.' 

"  '  Whoever  tempts  God  and  nature  shall  behold  sights,  the  pre- 
sence of  which  shall  quickly  wither  him,'  replied  the  old  man. 
'  Therefore,  man,  even  if  he  see  the  plants  grow,  and  understand 
the  discourse  of  birds,  remains  as  simple  as  before,  allows  a  foolish 
magpie  to  pass  off  upon  him  fables  of  a  princess  and  a  spider-king, 
and  takes  ladies'  veils  for  cobwebs.  Nature  is  a  curtain,  no  magical 
word  can  remove  it — it  will  only  make  thyself  an  old  fable.' 

"  He  retired  slowly  into  the  depths  of  the  wood,  whither  Conrad 
did  not  venture  to  follow  him.  He  conducted  his  Emma  from  the 
shadow  of  the  trees  to  the  broad  road,  where  the  light  played  in 
all  its  colours  around  the  tops  of  the  trees. 

"  For  some  time  did  travellers  in  the  Spessart  hear  a  hollow  and 
ghost-like  voice,  behind  the  rocks  and  thick  groups  of  trees,  utter 
rhymes,  which  to  some  sounded  like  nonsense,  to  others  like  per- 
fect wisdom.  If  they  followed  the  sound,  they  found  the  old  man, 
whose  years  were  yet  so  few,  as  with  faded  eyes,  and  hands  resting 
on  his  knees,  he  looked  fixedly  in  the  distance,  and  uttered  sen- 
tences, none  of  which  have  been  preserved.  Soon,  however,  they 
were  heard  no  more,  neither  was  the  corpse  of  the  old  man  dis- 
covered. 

"  Conrad  married  his  Emma;  she  bore  him  fair  children,  and  he 
lived  happily  with  her  to  an  advanced  age." 

J.  O. 


ii 


NOSE,   THE  DWARF. 

BY  W.  HAUFF. 

[This  story  is  from  the  collection  called  "  The  Sheik  of  Alexandria  and  his 
Slaves,"  and  is  supposed  to  be  told  by  a  slave  to  the  Sheik.] 

SIR,  those  people  are  much  mistaken  who  fancy  that  there  were 
no  fairies  and  enchanters,  except  in  the  time  of  Haroun  Al  Raschid, 
Lord  of  Bagdad,  or  even  pronounce  untrue  those  accounts  of  the 
deeds  of  genii  and  their  princes,  which  one  hears  the  story-tellers  re- 
late in  the  market-places  of  the  town.  There  are  fairies  now-a-days, 
and  it  is  but  a  short  time  since  that  I  myself  was  witness  of  an  occur- 
rence in  which  genii  were  evidently  playing  a  part,  as  you  will  see 
from  my  narrative.  In  a  considerable  town  of  my  dear  fatherland, 
Germany,  there  lived  many  years  ago  a  cobbler,  with  his  wife,  in  an 
humble  but  honest  way.  In  the  daytime  he  used  to  sit  at  the  corner 
of  a  street  mending  shoes  and  slippers ;  he  did  not  refuse  making 
new  ones  if  any  body  would  trust  him,  but  then  he  was  obliged  to 
buy  the  leather  first,  as  his  poverty  did  not  enable  him  to  keep  a 
stock.  His  wife  sold  vegetables  and  fruit,  which  she  cultivated  in  a 
small  garden  outside  the  town-gates,  and  many  people  were  glad  to 
buy  of  her,  because  she  was  dressed  cleanly  and  neatly,  and  knew 
well  how  to  arrange  and  lay  out  her  things  to  the  best  advantage. 

Now  this  worthy  couple  had  a  beautiful  boy,  of  a  sweet  counte- 
nance, well  made,  and  rather  tall  for  his  age,  which  was  eight  years. 
He  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting  in  the  market  with  his  mother,  and 
often  carried  home  part  of  the  fruit  and  vegetables  for  the  women 
and  cooks  who  had  made  large  purchases;  he  seldom,  however,  re- 
turned from  one  of  these  journeys  without  bringing  either  a  beautiful 
flower,  a  piece  of  money,  or  a  cake,  which  the  mistresses  of  such  cooks 
gave  him  as  a  present,  because  they  were  always  pleased  to  see  the 
handsome  boy  come  to  the  house. 

One  day  the  cobbler's  wife  was  sitting  as  usual  in  the  market- 
place, having  before  her  some  baskets  with  cabbages  and  other  vege- 
tables, various  herbs  and  seeds,  besides  some  early  pears,  apples,  and 
apricots,  in  a  small  basket.  Little  James  (this  was  the  boy's  name) 
sat  by  her,  crying  the  things  for  sale  in  a  loud  voice:  "  This  way, 
gentlemen,  see  what  beautiful  cabbages,  what  fragrant  herbs;  early 
pears,  ladies,  early  apples  and  apricots ;  who  will  buy  ?  My  mother 
sells  cheap." 

While  the  boy  was  thus  crying,  an  old  woman  was  coming  across 
the  market;  her  dress  was  rather  tattered  and  in  rags,  she  had  u  small, 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  99 

sharp  face,  quite  furrowed  with  age,  red  eyes,  and  a  pointed,  crooked 
nose,  which,  reached  down  to  her  chin ;  in  her  walk  she  supported 
herself  by  a  long  stick,  and  yet  it  was  difficult  to  say  exactly  how 
she  walked,  for  she  hobbled  and  shuffled  along,  and  waddled  as  if 
she  were  on  casters,  and  it  was  as  if  she  must  fall  down  every  in- 
stant and  break  her  pointed  nose  on  the  pavement. 

The  cobbler's  wife  looked  attentively  at  this  old  woman.  For  six- 
teen years  she  had  been  sitting  daily  in  the  market,  yet  she  had 
never  observed  this  strange  figure,  and  therefore  involuntarily  shud- 
dered when  she  saw  the  old  hag  hobbling  towards  her  and  stopping 
before  her  baskets. 

"  Are  you  Jane,  the  greengrocer?"  she  asked  in  a  disagreeable, 
croaking  voice,  shaking  her  head  to  and  fro. 

"  Yes,  lam,"  replied  the  cobbler's  wife;  "  what  is  your  pleasure ?" 

"  We'll  see,  we'll  see,  we'll  look  at  your  herbs — look  at  your 
herbs,  to  see  whether  you  have  what  I  want,"  answered  the  old 
woman;  and  stooping  down  she  thrust  her  dark  brown,  unsightly 
hands  into  the  herb-basket,  and  took  up  some  that  were  beautifully 
spread  out,  with  her  long  spider-legged  fingers,  bringing  them  one 
by  one  up  to  her  long  nose,  and  smelling  them  all  over.  The  poor 
woman  almost  felt  her  heart  break  when  she  saw  the  old  hag  handle 
her  herbs  in  this  manner,  but  she  dared  not  say  any  thing  to  her, 
the  purchasers  having  a  right  to  examine  the  things  as  they  pleased ; 
besides  which,  she  felt  a  singular  awe  in  the  presence  of  this  old 
woman.  After  having  searched  the  whole  basket,  she  muttered, 
"  wretched  stuff,  wretched  herbs,  nothing  that  I  want — were  much 
better  fifty  years  ago — wretched  stuff !  wretched  stuff !" 

Little  James  was  vexed  at  these  words.  "  Hark  ye,"  he  cried, 
boldly,  "  you  are  an  impudent  old  woman;  first  you  thrust  your 
nasty  brown  fingers  into  these  beautiful  herbs  and  squeeze  them  to- 
gether, then  you  hold  them  up  to  your  long  nose,  so  that  no  one 
seeing  this  will  buy  them  after  you,  and  you  abuse  our  goods, 
calling  them  wretched  stuff,  though  nevertheless  the  duke's  cook 
himself  buys  all  his  herbs  of  us." 

The  old  woman  leered  at  the  bold  boy,  laughed  disgustingly,  and 
said  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  Little  son,  little  son,  you  like  my  nose 
then,  my  beautiful  long  nose?  You  shall  have  one  too  in  the 
middle  of  your  face  that  shall  reach  down  to  your  chin." 

While  she  thus  spoke  she  shuffled  up  to  another  basket  containing 
cabbages.  She  took  the  most  beautiful  white  heads  up  in  her  hand, 
squeezed  them  together  till  they  squeaked,  and  then  throwing  them 
into  the  basket  again  without  regard  to  order,  said  as  before, 
"  Wretched  things !  wretched  cabbages !" 

"  Don't  wriggle  your  head  about  in  that  ugly  fashion,"  cried  the 
little  boy,  somewhat  frightened;  "  why  your  neck  is  as  thin  as  a 
cabbage-stalk  and  might  easily  break,  then  your  head  would  fall 
into  the  basket,  and  who  would  buy  of  us?" 

"You  don't  like  such  thin  necks  then,  eh?"  muttered  the  old 

H2 


100  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

woman  with  a  laugh.  "You  shall  have  none  at  all,  your  head 
shall  be  fixed  between  your  shoulders,  that  it  may  not  fall  down 
from  the  little  body." 

"  Don't  talk  such  nonsense  to  the  little  boy,"  at  length  said  the 
cobbler's  wife,  indignant  at  the  long-looking,  examining,  and 
smelling  of  the  things;  "if  you  wish  to  buy  any  thing  be  quick, 
for  you  scare  away  all  my  other  customers." 

"  Well,  be  it  as  you  say,"  cried  the  old  woman,  with  a  furious 
look,  "  I  will  buy  these  six  heads  of  cabbages;  but  you  see  I  must 
support  myself  by  my  stick,  and  cannot  carry  any  thing,  therefore, 
allow  your  little  son  to  carry  them  home  for  me,  I  will  reward  him 
for  it." 

The  little  boy  would  not  go  with  her,  and  began  to  cry,  for 
he  was  terrified  at  the  ugly  old  woman,  but  his  mother  com- 
manded him  earnestly  to  go,  as  she  thought  it  a  sin  to  load  the 
feeble  old  soul  with  this  burden.  Still  sobbing,  he  did  as  he  was 
ordered,  and  followed  the  old  woman  over  the  market. 

She  proceeded  but  slowly,  and  was  almost  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  before  she  arrived  at  a  very  remote  part  of  the  town,  where 
she  at  length  stopped  in  front  of  a  small  dilapidated  house.  She 
now  pulled  out  of  her  pocket  an  old  rusty  hook,  and  thrust  it 
dexterously  into  a  small  hole  in  the  door,  which  immediately 
opened  with  a  crash.  But  what  was  the  astonishment  of  little 
James  as  he  entered!  The  interior  of  the  house  was  magnifi- 
cently adorned,  the  ceiling  and  walls  were  of  marble,  the  furni- 
ture of  the  most  beautiful  ebony,  inlaid  with  gold  and  polished 
stones,  the  floor  was  of  glass,  and  so  smooth,  that  little  James 
several  times  slipped  and  fell  down.  The  old  woman  now  took 
a  small  silver  whistle  from  her  pocket,  and  blew  a  tune  on  it 
which  sounded  shrilly  through  the  house.  Immediately  some 
guinea-pigs  came  down  the  stairs,  and  little  James  was  much 
amazed  at  their  walking  upright  on  their  hind  legs,  wearing  on 
their  paws  nut-shells  instead  of  shoes,  men's  clothes  on  their  bodies, 
and  even  hats  in  the  newest  fashion  on  their  heads. 

"  Where  are  my  slippers,  ye  rascally  crew?"  cried  the  old  woman, 
striking  at  them  with  her  stick,  so  that  they  jumped  squeaking  into 
the  air;  "  how  long  am  I  to  stand  here  waiting ?" 

They  quickly  scampered  up  the  stairs  and  returned  with  a  pair 
of  cocoa-nut  shells  lined  with  leather,  which  they  pkced  dexte- 
rously upon  the  old  woman's  feet. 

Now  all  her  limping  and  shuffling  was  at  an  end.  She  threw  away 
her  stick,  and  glided  with  great  rapidity  over  the  glass  floor,  pulling 
little  James  after  her  with  her  hand.  At  length  she  stopped  in  a 
room  which  was  adorned  with  a  great  variety  of  utensils,  and  which 
almost  resembled  a  kitchen,  although  the  tables  were  of  mahogany, 
and  the  sofas  covered  with  rich  cloth,  more  fit  for  a  drawing-room. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  old  woman,  very  kindly,  pressing  him  into 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  101 

a  corner  of  a  sofa,  and  placing  a  table  before  him  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  he  could  not  get  out  again;  "  sit  down,  you  have  had  a 
heavy  load  to  carry,  human  heads  are  not  so  light — not  so  light." 

"  But,  woman,"  replied  the  little  boy,  "  you  talk  very  strangely; 
I  am,  indeed,  tired,  but  they  were  cabbage  heads  I  was  carrying,  and 
you  bought  them  of  my  mother." 

"  Why,  you  know  but  little  about  that,"  said  the  old  woman,  laugh- 
ing, as  she  took  the  lid  from  the  basket  and  brought  out  a  human 
head,  which  she  held  by  the  hair.  The  little  boy  was  frightened  out 
of  his  senses  at  this;  he  could  not  comprehend  how  it  all  came  to 
pass;  and  thinking  of  his  mother,  he  said  to  himself,  ;'  If  any  one 
were  to  hear  of  these  human  heads,  my  mother  would  certainly  be 
prosecuted." 

"  I  must  give  you  some  reward  now,  as  you  are  so  good,"  mut- 
tered the  old  woman;  "  have  patience  for  a  minute,  and  I  will  prepare 
you  a  soup  which  you  will  remember  all  your  life."  Having  said 
this,  she  whistled  again,  and  immediately  there  came  first  some 
guinea-pigs  dressed  like  human  beings ;  they  had  tied  round  them 
kitchen  aprons,  fastened  by  a  belt,  in  which  were  stuck  ladles  and 
carving-knives ;  after  them  came  skipping  in  a  number  of  squirrels, 
that  wore  large,  wide  Turkish  trousers,  walked  upright,  and  had 
small  caps  of  green  velvet  on  their  heads.  These  seemed  to  be  the 
scullions,  for  they  climbed  very  nimbly  up  the  walls  and  brought  down 
pans  and  dishes,  eggs  and  butter,  herbs  and  flour,  and  carried  it  to 
the  hearth.  The  old  woman  slided  continually  to  and  fro  upon  her 
cocoa-nut  slippers,  and  little  James  observed  that  she  was  very 
anxious  to  cook  something  good  for  him.  Now  the  fire  crackled 
and  blazed  up  higher,  there  was  a  smoking  and  bubbling  in  the 
saucepan,  and  a  pleasant  odour  spread  over  the  room,  but  the  old 
woman  kept  running  up  and  down,  the  squirrels  and  guinea-pigs 
after  her,  and  as  often  as  she  passed  the  hearth  she  poked  her  long 
nose  into  the  pot.  At  length  it  began  to  boil  and  hiss,  the  steam 
rose  from  the  pot,  and  the  scum  flowed  down  into  the  fire.  She 
then  took  off  the  saucepan,  and  pouring  some  into  a  silver  basin, 
gave  it  to  James. 

"  Now,  my  dear  little  son,  now,"  said  she,  "  eat  this  soup  and 
you  will  have  in  your  own  person  all  that  you  admired  so  much  in 
me.  You  shall  moreover  become  a  clever  cook,  that  you  may  be 
something  at  least,  but  as  for  the  herb,  that  you  shall  never  find,  be- 
cause your  mother  did  not  have  it  in  her  basket." 

The  little  boy  did  not  exactly  understand  what  she  was  saying, 
but  was  the  more  attentive  to  eating  his  soup,  which  he  relished  un- 
commonly. His  mother  had  cooked  various  savoury  soups,  but  never 
any  like  this.  The  flavour  of  the  fine  herbs  and  spice  ascended  from 
it,  and  it  was  at  the  same  time  very  sweet,  and  very  sharp  and 
strong.  While  he  was  sipping  the  last  drops  of  the  delicious  soup, 
the  guinea-pigs  lighted  some  Arabian  incense  which  floated  through 


102  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

the  room  in  blue  clouds,  which  became  thicker  and  thicker,  and  then 
descended.  The  smell  of  the  incense  had  a  stupifying  effect  upon 
the  boy ;  in  vain  did  he  repeatedly  say  to  himself  that  he  must  return 
to  his  mother,  for  as  often  as  he  endeavoured  to  rouse  himself,  as 
often  did  he  relapse  into  slumber  and,  at  length,  actually  fell  into 
a  profound  sleep  upon  the  old  woman's  sofa. 

Strange  dreams  came  over  him,  while  he  thus  slept.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  old  woman  was  taking  off  his  clothes,  and  putting  on  him 
the  skin  of  a  squirrel.  Now  he  could  make  bounds  and  climb  like 
a  squirrel ;  he  associated  with  the  other  squirrels  and  guinea-pigs, 
who  were  all  very  polite,  decent  people,  and  he  did  his  duty  of 
waiting  upon  the  old  woman  in  his  turn  with  the  rest.  At  first  he 
had  to  perform  the  service  of  a  shoeblack,  that  is,  he  had  to  oil  and 
polish  the  cocoa-nut  shells  which  his  mistress  wore  instead  of  slippers. 
Having  often  blacked  and  polished  shoes  at  home,  he  performed 
his  duty  well  and  quickly.  After  the  lapse  of  about  one  year,  he 
dreamt  again,  (according  to  the  sequel  of  his  dream)  that  he  was 
employed  for  more  delicate  work,  that  is,  in  company  with  some 
other  squirrels,  he  was  obliged  to  catch  the  atoms  in  the  sun,  and, 
when  they  had  caught  enough,  to  sift  them  through  the  finest  hair- 
sieve,  as  the  old  woman  considered  them  the  nicest  thing,  and  not 
being  able  to  masticate  well  for  want  of  teeth,  had  her  bread  pre- 
pared of  such  atoms. 

At  the  end  of  another  year,  he  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  one  of 
the  servants  who  had  to  collect  the  water  the  old  woman  drank. 
But  you  must  not  suppose  that  she  had  a  cistern  dug  for  that 
purpose,  or  a  tub  placed  in  the  yard  to  catch  the  rain-water;  she 
had  a  much  finer  plan.  The  squirrels,  and  James  with  them,  had 
to  collect  in  their  hazel-nut  shells  the  dew  from  roses,  and  this  was 
the  beverage  of  the  old  woman.  The  labour  of  these  water-carriers 
was  not  a  very  light  one,  as  she  used  to  drink  a  prodigious  quantity. 
After  another  year,  he  was  employed  in  in-door  service,  his  duty 
being  to  clean  tne  floors,  and  as  they  were  of  glass  and  showed  the 
least  speck,  it  was  not  a  very  easy  task.  He  and  his  fellow-servants 
were  obliged  to  brush  the  floors,  and  with  pieces  of  old  cloth  tied 
to  their  feet  dexterously  skated  about  the  rooms.  In  the  fourth 
year,  he  received  an  appointment  in  the  kitchen,  which  was  so  ho- 
nourable an  office,  that  one  could  succeed  to  it  only  after  a  long 
probation.  James  here  served  from  scullion  upwards  to  the  post  of 
first  pastrycook,  and  acquired  such  an  extraordinary  skill  and  expe- 
rience in  every  thing  relating  to  the  culinary  art,  that  often  he  could 
not  help  wondering  at  himself ;  the  most  difficult  things,  pies  com- 
posed of  two  hundred  different  ingredients,  soups  prepared  with  all 
the  herbs  of  the  globe, — all  these,  and  many  other  things,  he  learned 
to  make  quickly  and  efficiently. 

Seven  years  had  thus  passed  away  in  the  service  of  the  old  wo- 
man, when  one  day,  pulling  off  her  shoes  of  cocoa-nut,  and  taking 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  103 

her  basket  and  crutch  in  hand  in  order  to  go  out,  she  told  him  to 
pluck  a  chicken,  stuff  it  with  herbs,  and  roast  it  nice  and  brown, 
during  her  absence.  He  did  this  according  to  the  rules  of  his  art ; 
twisted  the  chicken's  neck,  scalded  it  in  hot  water,  pulled  out  the 
feathers  cleverly,  scraped  its  skin  smooth  and  fine,  and  then  drew  it. 
Next  he  began  gathering  the  herbs  with  which  he  was  to  stuff  the 
chicken.  Now  when  he  came  to  the  chamber  where  these  herbs 
were  kept,  he  perceived  a  small  cupboard  in  the  wall  that  he  had 
never  before  noticed,  and  finding  the  door  of  it  half  open,  he  had 
the  curiosity  to  go  near,  in  order  to  see  what  it  contained,  when  be- 
hold !  there  stood  a  great  many  little  baskets  in  it,  from  which  pro- 
ceeded a  strong  pleasant  smell.  He  opened  one  of  these  little  bas- 
kets, and  found  in  it  a  herb  of  a  most  singular  form  and  colour;  its 
stalks  and  leaves  were  of  a  bluish  green,  and  it  had  a  flower  of  burn- 
ing red  fringed  with  yellow  at  the  top.  He  looked  thoughtfully  at 
this  flower,  and  smelled  it,  when  it  emitted  the  same  powerful  odour 
as  the  soup  which  the  old  woman  had  cooked  for  him  when  he  first 
came  there.  But  the  smell  was  so  strong  that  he  began  to  sneeze, 
was  obliged  to  keep  sneezing,  and  at  last  awoke,  sneezing  still. 

He  now  found  himself  upon  the  old  woman's  sofa,  and  looked 
around  him  with  astonishment.  "  Heavens!"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  how  vividly  one  may  dream ;  I  would  almost  have  sworn  that  I 
was  a  wanton  squirrel, — a  companion  of  guinea-pigs  and  other  ver- 
min, but  at  the  same  time  had  become  a  great  cook.  How  my  mo- 
ther will  laugh  when  I  tell  her  all  this !  But  will  she  not  also  scold 
me  for  falling  asleep  in  a  strange  house  instead  of  helping  her  in  the 
market  ?"  While  engaged  in  these  thoughts,  he  started  up  to  run 
away ;  but  his  limbs  were  still  quite  stiff  with  sleep,  and  particularly 
his  neck,  for  he  was  unable  to  move  his  head  well  to  and  fro.  He 
could  not  help  smiling  at  himself  and  his  drowsiness,  for  every  mo- 
ment, before  he  was  aware,  he  ran  his  nose  against  a  cupboard  or 
the  wall,  or  turning  suddenly  round,  struck  it  against  a  door-post. 
The  squirrels  and  guinea-pigs  crowded  whining  around  him,  as  if 
anxious  to  accompany  him,  and  he  actually  invited  them  to  do  so 
when  he  was  on  the  threshold,  for  they  were  nice  little  creatures, 
but  they  glided  quickly  back  into  the  house  on  their  nutshells,  and 
he  only  heard  them  howling  at  a  distance. 

As  it  was  a  very  remote  part  of  the  town  to  which  the  old  wo- 
man had  brought  him,  he  could  hardly  find  his  way  through  the 
narrow  streets,  and  as,  moreover,  there  was  a  great  crowd  of  people, 
wherever  he  went,  he  could  only  account  for  this  by  supposing  there 
must  be  a  dwarf  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  for  show,  for  he 
heard  everywhere  cries  of,  "  Only  look  at  the  ugly  dwarf!  Where 
does  the  dwarf  come  from?  O  !  what  a  long  nose  he  has,  and  how 
his  head  sits  between  his  shoulders,  and  look  at  his  brown  ugly 
hands  !"  At  any  other  time,  he  would  probably  have  followed  the 
cry,  for  he  was  very  fond  of  seeing  giants  and  dwarfs,  and  any  sort 


104  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

of  curious,  foreign  costume,  but  now  he  was  obliged  to  hurry  and 
get  to  his  mother. 

He  felt  quite  weary  when  he  arrived .  at  the  market.  He  found 
his  mother  still  sitting  there,  and  she  had  a  tolerable  quantity  of  fruit 
in  the  basket ;  he  could  not  therefore  have  been  sleeping  long,  but 
still  it  appeared  to  him,  even  at  a  distance,  as  if  she  were  very  melan- 
choly, for  she  did  not  call  to  those  coming  past  to  buy,  but  supported 
her  head  by  one  hand,  and  on  coming  closer  he  likewise  thought  she 
looked  paler  than  usual.  He  hesitated  as  to  what  he  should  do  ;  and 
at  length  mustering  up  courage,  crept  gently  behind  her,  and  putting 
his  hand  familiarly  upon  her  arm,  asked,  "  Dear  mother,  what's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  are  you  angry  with  me  ?" 

The  woman  turned  round,  but  started  back  with  a  shriek  of  terror, 
saying,  "  What  do  you  want  with  me,  you  ugly  dwarf?  Begone, 
begone !  I  do  not  like  such  jokes." 

"  But  mother,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?"  asked  James,  quite 
terrified  ;  "  surely  you  must  be  unwell,  why  will  you  turn  your  son 
away  from  you  ?" 

"  I  have  told  you  already  to  be  gone,"  replied  Jane,  angrily ;  "  you 
will  not  get  any  money  from  me  by  your  juggleries,  you  ill-favoured 
monster." 

"  Surely  God  has  deprived  her  of  the  light  of  her  intellect,''  said 
the  dwarf,  deeply  grieved  within  himself ;  "  what  shall  I  do  to  get 
her  home  ?  Dear  mother,  pray  do  listen  to  reason  ;  only  look  well 
at  me,  I  am  indeed  your  son — your  own  James." 

"  Why  this  is  carrying  the  joke  too  far,"  she  said  to  her  neighbour ; 
"  only  look  at  that  ugly  dwarf;  there  he  stands,  and  will  no  doubt 
drive  away  all  my  customers;  nay,  he  even  dares  to  ridicule  my 
misfortune,  telling  me  that  he  is  my  son,  my  own  James,  the  impu- 
dent fellow." 

At  this  her  neighbours  rose,  and  began  as  much  abuse  as  possible, 
(every  one  knows  that  market  women  understand  this  well,)  and  re- 
proaching him  with  making  light  of  poor  Jane's  misfortune,  who 
seven  years  ago  had  had  her  beautiful  boy  kidnapped,  with  one  ac- 
cord they  threatened  to  fall  upon  him  and  tear  him  to  pieces,  unless 
he  took  himself  off  immediately. 

Poor  James  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  all  this.  Indeed  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  that  very  morning,  as  usual,  gone  to 
market  with  his  mother,  had  helped  her  to  lay  out  her  fruit,  and  had 
afterwards  gone  with  the  old  woman  to  her  house,  eaten  some  soup, 
slept  a  little  while,  and  had  now  come  back;  and  yet  his  mother  and 
her  neighbours  talked  of  seven  years,  calling  him  at  the  same  time 
an  ugly  dwarf.  What  then  was  the  change  that  had  come  over 
him?  Seeing,  at  length,  that  his  mother  would  no  longer  listen  to 
any  thing  he  said,  he  felt  the  tears  come  in  his  eyes,  and  went  sor- 
rowfully down  the  street  towards  the  -stall  where  his  father  sat  in  the 
daytime  mending  shoes. 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  105 

"  I  am  curious  to  see,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "whether  he,  too, 
will  disown  me?  I  will  place  myself  in  the  doorway  and  talk  to 
him."  And  having  come  there  he  did  so  and  looked  in. 

The  cobbler  was  so  busily  engaged  at  work  that  he  did  not  see 
him ;  but  happening  to  cast  a  look  towards  the  door,  he  dropped 
shoe,  twine,  and  awl  on  the  ground,  and  cried,  with  astonishment, 
"  For  Heaven's  sake  what  is  that?" 

u  Good  evening,  master,"  said  the  little  dwarf,  stepping  inside  the 
booth.  "  How  fare  you  ?" 

"  Badly,  badly,  my  little  gentleman,"  replied  James's  father,  to 
his  utter  amazement;  for  he,  too,  did  not  seem  to  recognise  him. 
"  I  have  to  do  all  the  work  myself,  for  I  am  alone  and  now  getting 
old,  and  yet  I  cannot  afford  to  keep  a  journeyman." 

"  But  have  you  no  son  to  assist  you  in  your  work?"  inquired  the 
dwarf  further. 

"  Indeed  I  had  one,  whose  name  was  James,  and  he  now  must  be 
a  handsome,  quick  lad,  twenty  years  old,  who  might  effectually  assist 
me.  Ah  !  what  a  pleasant  life  I  should  lead !  Even  when  he  was 
twelve  years  old  he  showed  himself  quite  handy  and  clever,  and  un- 
derstood a  great  deal  of  the  business.  He  was  a  fine  engaging  little 
fellow;  he  would  soon  have  brought  me  plenty  of  custom,  so  that  I 
should  no  longer  have  been  mending  shoes  and  boots  but  making 
new  ones.  But  so  goes  the  world." 

"  Where  is  your  son,  then?"  asked  James,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  That  God  only  knows,"  replied  his  father.  "  Seven  years  ago, 
yes !  it  is  just  that  now,  he  was  stolen  from  us  in  the  market-place." 

"  Seven  years  ago,  you  say?"  cried  James,  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  little  gentleman,  seven  years  ago;  the  circumstance  is  as 
fresh  in  my  memory  as  if  it  had  happened  to-day,  how  my  poor  wife 
came  home  weeping  and  crying,  saying  that  the  child  had  not  come 
back  all  day,  and  that  she  had  inquired  and  searched  everywhere 
without  finding  him.  But  I  always  said  it  would  come  to  that ;  for 
James  was  a  pretty  child,  no  one  could  help  saying  so,  therefore  my 
poor  wife  was  proud  of  him  and  fond  of  hearing  people  praise  him, 
and  often  sent  him  with  vegetables  and  such  like  things  to  the  houses 
of  the  gentlefolks.  All  this  was  very  well ;  he  always  received  some 
present.  But  said  I,  mark  me,  the  town  is  large,  and  there  are 
many  bad  people  in  it,  so  take  care  of  James.  But  it  happened  as 
I  always  said.  Once  there  comes  an  ugly  old  woman  to  the  market, 
bargains  for  some  fruits  and  vegetables,  and  at  length  buys  so  much 
that  she  cannot  carry  it  home  herself.  My  wife,  kind  soul,  sends 
the  lad  with  her,  and — has  never  seen  him  again  since  that  hour." 

"  And  that  is  now  seven  years,  say  you?" 

"  Seven  years  this  spring.  We  had  him  cried  in  the  town,  we 
went  from  house  to  house  inquiring ;  many  had  known  and  liked 
the  pretty  lad,  and  searched  with  us,  but  all  in  vain.  Neither  did 
any  one  know  the  woman  who  bought  the  vegetables;  a  very  aged 


106  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

woman,  however,  ninety  years  old,  said,  'it  might  possibly  have 
been  the  wicked  fairy,  Krauterweis,  who  once  in  fifty  years  comes 
to  the  town  to  buy  various  articles.' " 

Thus  spoke  James's  father  hastily,  hammering  his  shoes  at  the 
same  time,  and  drawing  out  at  great  length  the  twine  with  both 
hands.  Now  by  degrees  light  broke  on  the  little  dwarf's  mind, 
and  he  saw  what  had  happened  to  him,  viz.,  that  he  had  not  been 
dreaming,  but  had  served  as  a  squirrel  seven  years  with  the  evil 
fairy.  Rage  and  sorrow  now  filled  his  heart  almost  to  bursting. 

The  old  witch  had  robbed  him  of  seven  years  of  his  youth,  and 
what  had  he  in  exchange?  What  was  it  that  he  could  polish  slip- 
pers of  cocoa-nut  shell  ?  that  he  could  clean  rooms  with  glass  floors  ? 
that  he  had  learned  all  the  mysteries  of  cooking,  from  the  guinea 
pigs?  Thus  he  stood  for  some  time  meditating  on  his  fate,  when 
at  length  his  father  asked  him — 

"  Do  you  want  to  purchase  any  thing,  young  gentleman?  Perhaps 
a  pair  of  new  slippers  or,  peradventure,  a  case  for  your  nose?"  he 
added,  smiling. 

"  What  do  you  mean  about  my  nose?"  asked  James;  "  why  should 
I  want  a  case  for  it?" 

"  Why,'5  replied  the  cobbler,  "  every  one  according  to  his  taste; 
but  I  must  tell  you,  that  if  I  had  such  a  terrible  nose,  I  should  have  a 
case  made  for  it  of  rose-coloured  morocco.  Look  here,  1  have  a 
beautiful  piece  that  is  just  the  thing;  indeed  we  should  at  least 
want  a  yard  for  it.  It  would  then  be  well  guarded,  my  little  gen- 
tleman; whereas  now  I  am  sure  you  will  knock  it  against  every 
door-post  and  carriage  you  would  wish  to  avoid." 

The  dwarf  was  struck  dumb  with  terror ;  he  felt  his  nose,  it  was 
full  two  hands  long  and  thick  in  proportion.  So  then  the  old  hag 
had  likewise  changed  his  person ;  and  hence  it  was  his  mother  did 
not  know  him,  and  people  called  him  an  ill-favoured  dwarf. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  half  crying  to  the  cobbler,  "  have  you  no  look- 
ing-glass at  hand  in  which  I  might  behold  myself  ?" 

"  Young  gentleman,"  replied  his  father,  gravely,  "  you  have  not 
exactly  been  favoured  as  to  appearance  so  as  to  make  you  vain,  and 
you  have  no  cause  to  look  often  in  the  glass.  You  had  better  leave 
it  off  altogether.  It  is  with  you  a  particularly  ridiculous  habit." 

"  Oh  !  pray  let  me  look  in  the  glass,"  cried  the  dwarf.  "  I  as- 
sure you  it  is  not  from  vanity." 

"  Leave  me  in  peace,  I  have  none  in  my  possession;  my  wife  has 
a  little  looking-glass,  but  I  do  not  know  where  she  has  hid  it.  If  you 
really  must  look  into  one, — why  then,  over  the  way  lives  Urban,  the 
barber,  who  has  a  glass  twice  as  big  as  your  head;  look  in  there,  and 
now,  good  morning." 

With  these  words  his  father  pushed  him  gently  out  of  the  stall, 
-locked  the  door  after  him,  and  sat  down  again  to  his  work.  The 
little  dwarf,  much  cast  down,  went  over  the  way  to  the  barber, 
whom  he  well  remembered  in  former  times. 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  107 

"  Good  morning,  Urban,"  said  he  to  him,  "  I  come  to  beg  a 
favour  of  you,  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  look  a  moment  in  your  look- 
ing-glass." 

"  With  pleasure,"  cried  the  barber,  laughing,  "  there  it  is;"  and 
his  customers  who  were  about  to  be  shaved  laughed  heartily  with 
him.  "  You  are  rather  a  pretty  fellow,  slim  and  genteel;  you  have 
a  neck  like  a  swan,  hands  like  a  queen,  and  a  turn-up  nose,  such  as 
one  seldom  sees  excelled.  A  little  vain  you  are  of  it,  no  doubt ;  but 
no  matter,  look  at  yourself,  people  shall  not  say  that  envy  prevented 
me  from  allowing  you  to  see  yourself  in  my  glass." 

Thus  spoke  the  barber,  and  a  yell  of  laughter  resounded  through 
the  room.  In  the  meantime  the  dwarf  had  stepped  to  the  glass  and 
looked  at  himself.  The  tears  came  in  his  eyes,  while  saying  to  him- 
self; "  Yes,  dear  mother,  thus  you  could  not  indeed  recognise  your 
James,  he  did  not  look  like  this  in  the  days  of  your  happiness,  when 
you  delighted  to  show  him  off  before  the  people  ?"  His  eyes  had 
become  little,  like  those  of  pigs;  his  nose  was  immense,  hanging 
over  his  mouth  down  to  his  chin ;  his  neck  seemed  to  have  been 
taken  away  altogether,  for  his  head  sat  low  between  his  shoulders, 
and  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  pain  that  he  could  move  it  to  the 
right  or  left;  his  body  was  still  the  same  size  as  it  had  been  seven 
years  ago,  when  he  was  twelve  years  old,  so  that  he  had  grown  in 
width  what  others  do  in  height,  between  the  ages  of  twelve  and 
twenty.  His  back  and  chest  stood  out  like  two  short,  well-filled 
bags;  and  this  thick-set  body  was  supported  by  small  thin  legs, 
which  seemed  hardly  sufficient  to  support  their  burden;  but  so 
much  the  larger  were  his  arms,  which  hung  down  from  his  body, 
being  of  the  size  of  those  of  a  full-grown  man;  his  hands  were 
coarse,  and  of  a  brownish  hue,  his  fingers  long,  like  spiders'  legs, 
and  when  he  stretched  them  to  their  full  extent,  he  could  touch  the 
ground  without  stooping.  Such  was  little  James's  appearance,  now 
that  he  had  become  an  ugly  dwarf.  He  now  remembered  the 
morning  on  which  the  old  woman  had  stopped  before  his  mother's 
baskets.  All  that  he  then  had  found  fault  with  in  her — viz.,  her  long 
nose,  and  ugly  fingers— all  these  she  had  given  him,  only  omitting 
her  long,  palsied  neck. 

"  Well,  my  prince,  have  you  looked  enough  at  yourself  now?" 
said  the  barber,  stepping  up  to  him,  and  surveying  him  with  a 
laugh.  "  Truly,  if  we  wished  to  dream  of  such  a  figure,  we  could 
hardly  see  one  so  comical.  Nevertheless,  I  will  make  you  a  pro- 
position, my  little  man.  My  shaving-room  is  tolerably  well  fre- 
quented, but  yet  not  so  much  so  as  I  could  wish.  That  arises  from 
my  neighbour,  the  barber  Schaum,  having  discovered  a  giant,  who 
attracts  much  custom  to  his  house.  Now,  to  become  a  giant  is  no 
great  thing,  after  all,  but  to  be  such  a  little  man  as  you,  is  indeed  a 
different  thing.  Enter  my  service,  little  man,  you  shall  have  board 
and  lodging,  clothes  and  every  thing ;  for  this  you  shall  stand  in  my 
door-way  in  the  morning,  and  invite  people  to  come  in ;  you  shall 


108  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

beat  up  the  lather,  hand  the  towel  to  the  customers,  and  you  may 
be  sure  that  we  shall  both  make  it  answer ;  I  shall  get  more  cus- 
tomers through  you  than  my  neighbour  by  his  giant;  and  you  will 
get  many  presents." 

The  little  man  felt  quite  indignant  at  the  proposal  of  serving  as  a 
decoy  to  a  barber.  But  was  he  not  obliged  to  submit  patiently  to 
this  insulting  offer?  He,  therefore,  quietly  told  the  barber  he  had 
no  time  for  such  services,  and  went  away. 

Although  the  evil  hag  had  thus  stunted  his  growth,  yet  she  had 
had  no  power  to  affect  his  mind,  as  he  felt  full  well;  for  he  no 
longer  thought  and  felt  as  he  did  seven  years  since,  and  believed 
that  he  had  become  wiser  and  more  sensible  in  the  interval.  He  did 
not  mourn  for  the  loss  of  his  beauty,  nor  for  his  ugly  appearance, 
but  only  that  he  was  driven  from  his  father's  door  like  a  dog.  How- 
ever, he  resolved  to  make  another  trial  with  his  mother. 

He  went  again  to  her  in  the  market,  and  entreated  her  to  listen  to 
him  patiently.  He  reminded  her  of  the  day  on  which  he  had  gone 
with  the  old  woman ;  he  called  to  her  mind  all  the  particular  inci- 
dents of  his  childhood,  told  her  then  how  he  had  served  seven  years 
as  a  squirrel  with  the  fairy,  and  how  she  had  changed  him  because 
he  had  then  ridiculed  her  person. 

The  cobbler's  wife  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  all  this.  All  that 
he  related  of  his  childhood  agreed  with  her  own  recollections,  but 
when  he  talked  of  serving  seven  years  as  a  squirrel,  she  said,  "  It  is 
impossible;  there  are  no  fairies;"  and  when  she  looked  at  him  she 
felt  a  horror  at  the  ugly  dwarf,  and  would  not  believe  that  he  could 
be  her  son.  At  length  she  thought  it  would  be  best  to  talk  the 
matter  over  with  her  husband;  therefore  she  took  up  her  baskets  and 
bade  him  go  with  her. 

On  arriving  at  the  cobbler's  stall  she  said:  "  Look,  this  fellow  pre- 
tends to  be  our  lost  James.  He  has  told  me  all  the  circumstances, 
how  he  was  stolen  from  us  seven  years  since,  and  how  he  was  en- 
chanted by  a  fairy." 

"  Indeed,"  interrupted  the  cobbler  in  a  rage,  "  has  he  told  you 
this?  wait,  you  rogue! — I  have  told  him  all  this  an  hour  ago,  and 
then  he  goes  to  make  a  fool  of  you.  Enchanted  you  have  been,  my 
little  chap,  have  you?  Wait  a  bit,  I  will  soon  disenchant  you!"  So 
saying,  he  took  a  bundle  of  straps  that  he  had  just  cut,  jumped  up 
towards  the  dwarf,  and  beat  him  on  his  humped  back  and  his  long 
arms,  making  the  little  fellow  scream  with  pain  and  run  crying  away. 

Now  in  that  town,  as  in  others,  there  were  but  few  of  those  com- 
passionate souls  who  will  support  a  poor  unfortunate  with  a  ridicu- 
lous appearance.  Hence  it  was  that  the  unlucky  dwarf  remained  all 
day  without  food,  and  was  obliged  in  the  evening  to  choose  for  his 
night's  quarters  the  steps  of  a  church,  though  they  were  hard  and 
cold. 

When  on  the  following  morning  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  awoke 
him,  he  began  seriously  to  think  how  he  should  prolong  his  exist- 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  109 

ence,  now  that  his  father  and  mother  had  rejected  him;  he  was  too 
proud  to  serve  as  a  sign-board  to  a  barber;  he  would  not  hire  him- 
self us  a  merry-andrew  to  be  exhibited ;  what  then  should  he  do  ?  It 
now  occurred  to  him  that  as  a  squirrel  he  had  made  considerable 
progress  in  the  culinary  art,  and  thought  he  might  justly  expect  to 
prove  a  match  for  any  cook ;  he  therefore  resolved  to  turn  his  art  to 
advantage. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  the  morning  had  dawned,  and  the  streets 
became  animated,  he  entered  a  church  and  performed  his  devotions; 
thence  he  proceeded  on  his  way.  The  duke  (the  sovereign  of  the 
country)  was  a  notorious  gourmand,  who  kept  a  good  table,  and 
sought  cooks  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  To  his  palace  the  dwarf 
went.  When  he  arrived  at  the  outer  gate  the  porter  asked  his  er- 
rand, and  began  to  crack  his  jokes  on  him;  when  he  asked  for  the 
chief  cook  they  laughed  and  led  him  through  the  inner  courts,  and 
wherever  he  went  the  servants  stood  still,  looked  at  him,  laughed 
heartily,  and  followed  him,  so  that  in  a  short  time  a  great  posse  of 
menials  of  all  descriptions  crowded  up  the  steps  of  the  palace.  The 
grooms  threw  away  their  curry-combs,  the  running  footmen  ran  with 
all  their  might,  the  carpet-spreaders  ceased  beating  their  carpets,  all 
crowded  and  thronged  around  him,  as  if  the  enemy  was  at  the  gates, 
and  the  shouts  of  "  A  dwarf,  a  dwarf!  have  you  seen  the  dwarf?" 
filled  the  air. 

At  this  moment  the  steward  of  the  palace,  with  a  furious  counte- 
nance and  a  large  whip  in  his  hand,  made  his  appearance  at  the 
door,  crying,  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  ye  hounds,  what  is  all  this  uproar 
for?  Do  you  not  know  that  our  gracious  master  is  still  asleep?"  At 
the  same  time  he  flourished  his  whip,  laying  it  rather  roughly 
about  the  backs  of  some  grooms  and  porters. 

"  Why  sir,"  they  all  cried,  "  don't  you  see  that  we  are  bringing 
a  dwarf,  such  a  dwarf  as  you  never  saw?"  The  steward  suppressed, 
though  with  difficulty,  a  loud  laugh,  when  he  got  sight  of  the  little 
man,  for  he  was  afraid  that  laughter  would  derogate  from  his  dignity. 
He  therefore  drove  them  all  away  with  his  whip  except  the  dwarf, 
whom  he  led  into  the  house  and  asked  what  he  wanted.  Hearing 
that  the  little  man  wished  to  see  the  master  of  the  kitchen,  he  re- 
plied, "  You  make  a  mistake,  my  little  son;  I  suppose  you  want  to 
see  me,  the  steward  of  the  palace,  do  you  not?  You  wish  to  become 
dwarf  to  the  duke,  is  it  not  so?" 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  the  dwarf,  "  I  am  a  clever  cook  and  skilled  in 
the  preparation  of  all  sorts  of  choice  meats;  be  so  kind  as  to  bring 
me  to  the  master  of  the  kitchen,  perhaps  he  may  be  in  want  of  my 
skill." 

"  Every  one  according  to  his  wish,  my  little  man;  but  you  are 
an  inconsiderate  youth.  To  the  kitchen  !  why,  as  the  duke's  dwarf 
you  would  have  nothing  to  do  and  plenty  to  eat  and  drink  to  your 
heart's  desire,  and  fine  clothes  into  the  bargain.  But  we  shall  see; 
your  skill  in  the  culinary  art  will  hardly  be  such  as  a  cook  to  the 


110  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

duke  is  required  to  possess,  and  you  are  too  good  for  a  scullion." 
As  lie  said  the  last  words  lie  took  the  dwarf  by  the  hand  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  apartments  of  the  master  of  the  kitchen. 

On  arriving  there  the  dwarf  said,  with  so  deep  a  bow  that  his 
nose  touched  the  floor,  "  Gracious,  sir,  are  you  in  want  of  a  skilful 
cook?" 

The  master  of  the  kitchen,  surveying  him  from  top  to  toe,  burst 
into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter,  and  said,  "  What,  you  a  cook?  Do 
you  think  that  our  hearths  are  so  low  that  you  could  even  look 
on  one,  though  you  should  stand  on  tiptoe,  and  stretch  your  head 
ever  so  much  out  of  your  shoulders?  My  good  little  fellow,  who- 
ever sent  you  here  to  hire  yourself  as  a  cook,  has  been  making  a  fool 
of  you."  Thus  saying,  the  master  cook  laughed  heartily,  and  was 
joined  by  the  steward  of  the  palace  and  all  the  servants  in  the  room. 

But  the  dwarf  was  not  to  be  discomposed  by  this.  "  Of  what  con- 
sequence is  it  to  waste  a  few  eggs,  a  little  syrup  and  wine,  some 
flour  and  spice,  upon  trial,  in  a  house  where  there  are  plenty?  Give 
me  some  dainty  dish  to  prepare,"  said  he,  "  procure  all  that  is  neces- 
sary for  it,  and  it  shall  be  immediately  prepared  before  your  eyes,  so 
that  you  shall  be  constrained  to  avow  that  I  am  a  first-rate  cook." 

While  the  dwarf  was  saying  all  this,  and  many  other  things,  it 
was  strange  to  see  how  his  little  eyes  sparkled,  how  his  long  nose 
moved  to  and  fro,  and  his  fingers,  which  were  like  spider's  legs,  suited 
their  movements  to  his  words. 

"  Well!"  exclaimed  the  master  cook,  taking  the  steward  by  the 
arm,  "  Well !  be  it  so  for  the  sake  of  the  joke,  let  us  go  to  the 
kitchen." 

They  walked  through  several  large  rooms  and  corridors  till  they 
came  to  the  kitchen.  This  was  a  large  spacious  building  mag- 
nificently fitted  up ;  on  twenty  hearths  fires  were  constantly  burning, 
clear  water  was  flowing  through  the  midst,  serving  also  as  a  fish- 
pond; in  cupboards  of  marble  and  choice  wood,  the  stores  were 
piled,  which  it  was  necessary  to  have  at  hand  for  use,  and  on  either 
side  were  ten  rooms,  in  which  were  kept  all  the  delicious  dainties  for 
the  palate  which  can  be  obtained  in  all  the  countries  of  Europe  or 
even  the  East.  Servants  of  all  descriptions  were  running  to  and  fro, 
handling  and  rattling  kettles  and  pans,  with  forks  and  ladles;  but 
when  the  master  cook  entered,  all  stood  motionless,  and  the  crack- 
ling of  the  fire,  and  the  rippling  of  the  brook  were  alone  to  be 
heard. 

"  What  has  the  duke  ordered  for  breakfast  this  morning  ?"  he 
asked  an  old  cook,  who  always  prepared  the  breakfast. 

"  Sir,  his  highness  has  pleased  to  order  the  Danish  soup,  with  the 
small  red  Hamburg  dumplings." 

"  Well/'  continued  the  master  cook,  "  did  you  hear  what  the  duke 
wishes  to  eat  ?  Are  you  bold  enough  to  attempt  this  difficult  dish  ? 
At  all  events  the  dumplings  you  will  not  be  able  to  make,  that  is 
quite  a  secret." 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  Ill 

"Nothing  easier  than  that/'  replied  the  dwarf,  to  their  astonish- 
ment ;  for  he  had  often  made  this  dish  when  he  was  a  squirrel. 
"  Nothing  easier,  only  give  me  the  herbs,  the  spices,  fat  of  a  wild 
boar,  roots  and  eggs  for  the  soup  ;  but  for  the  dumplings,"  said  he,  in 
a  low  voice,  so  that  only  the  master  cook  and  the  breakfast-maker 
could  hear,  "  for  the  dumplings  I  want  various  meats,  wine,  duck's 
fat,  ginger,  and  the  herb  called  the  stomach  comforter." 

"  Ah,  by  St.  Benedict,  to  what  enchanter  have  you  been  appren- 
ticed ?'  cried  the  cook  in  astonishment.  "  You  have  hit  all  to  a  hair, 
and  as  to  the  noted  herb,  we  did  not  know  of  that  ourselves ;  yes  ! 
that  must  make  the  dish  still  more  delicious.  Oh  !  you  miracle  of 
a  cook  !" 

"  I  should  never  have  thought  this,"  said  the  master  cook,  "but 
let  us  make  the  trial,  give  him  all  he  asks  and  let  him  prepare  the 
breakfast." 

His  orders  were  obeyed,  and  the  necessary  preparations  were  made 
on  the  hearth  ;  but  they  now  found  that  the  dwarf  could  not  reach 
it.  They  therefore  put  two  chairs  together,  laid  a  slab  of  marble  on 
them,  and  asked  the  little  wonder  to  step  up  and  begin  his  skill.  In 
a  large  circle  stood  the  cooks,  scullions,  servants,  and  others,  look- 
ing at  him  in  amazement,  to  see  how  readily  and  quickly  he  pro- 
ceeded, and  how  cleanly  and  neatly  he  prepared  every  thing.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  ordered  both  dishes  to  be  put  to  the  fire,  and  to 
be  boiled  until  he  should  call  out  ;  then  he  began  to  count  one,  two, 
three,  and  so  on  up  to  five  hundred,  when  he  cried  out,  "  Stop,  take 
them  off,"  and  then  invited  the  head  cook  to  taste  them. 

The  taster  ordered  the  scullion  to  bring  him  a  gold  spoon,  which 
he  first  rinsed  in  the  brook,  and  then  gave  it  to  the  head  cook.  The 
latter,  stepping  up  to  the  hearth  with  a  grave  mien,  took  a  spoonful, 
tasted  it,  and  shutting  his  eyes,  smacked  his  lips  with  delight,  saying, 
"  Delicious  !  by  the  duke's  life,  delicious  !  Would  you  not  like  to 
taste  a  spoonful,  Mr.  Steward  ?"  The  latter,  bowing,  took  the  spoon, 
tasted  it,  and  was  beside  himself  with  delight. 

"  With  all  due  respect  to  your  skill,  dear  breakfast-maker,  you 
aged  and  experienced  cook,  you  have  never  been  able  to  make  the 
soup  or  dumplings  so  delicious." 

The  cook  also  tasted  it,  shook  the  dwarf  reverentially  by  the  hand, 
saying,  "  My  little  man,  you  are  a  master  of  your  art,  yes,  that  herb 
1  stomach  comforter'  imparts  a  peculiar  charm  to  the  whole." 

At  this  moment  the  duke's  valet  entered  the  kitchen,  and  in- 
formed them  that  the  duke  wished  his  breakfast.  The  prepara- 
tions were  now  dished  up  in  silver,  and  sent  up  to  the  duke ;  but 
the  head  cook  took  the  dwarf  to  his  own  room  to  converse  with 
him.  They  had  scarcely  sat  down  long  enough  to  say  half  a  pater- 
noster, when  a  messenger  came  and  called  the  head  cook  to  the 
duke.  He  quickly  put  on  his  best  clothes,  and  followed  the  mes- 
senger. 

The  duke  looked  well  pleased,    He  had  eaten  all  they  had  served, 


112  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

and  was  just  wiping  his  beard  as  the  master-cook  entered.  "  Mas- 
ter," said  he,  "I  have  hitherto  always  been  well  satisfied  with  your 
cooks;  but  tell  me  who  prepared  the  breakfast  this  morning?  It 
never  was  so  delicious  since  I  sat  on  the  throne  of  my  fathers ;  tell 
me  the  name  of  the  cook,  that  I  may  send  him  a  ducat  as  a  present." 

"My  lord,  this  is  a  strange  story,"  replied  the  master;  and  he 
told  the  duke  that  a  dwarf  had  been  brought  to  him  that  morn- 
ing, who  earnestly  solicited  the  place  of  a  cook,  and  how  all  had 
happened.  The  duke  was  greatly  astonished,  ordered  the  dwarf 
to  appear,  and  asked  him  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came.  Now 
poor  James  did  not  exactly  wish  to  say  that  he  had  been  en- 
chanted, and  had  served  as  a  squirrel.  But  yet  he  adhered  to  truth, 
telling  him  that  he  now  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  and  had 
learned  cooking  of  an  old  woman.  Much  amused  by  the  strange 
appearance  of  his  new  cook,  the  duke  asked  no  more  questions, 
but  said,  "  If  you  wish  to  remain  here,  I  will  give  you  fifty  ducats 
a-year,  a  suit  of  livery,  and  two  pair  of  breeches  beside.  Your 
duty  shall  be  to  prepare  my  breakfast;  yourself  every  day  to  give 
directions  how  the  dinner  shall  be  prepared,  and  to  take  the  general 
superintendence  of  the  cooking.  As  each  in  my  palace  has  his 
proper  name,  you  shall  be  called  *  Nose,'  and  hold  the  office  of 
sub-master-cook." 

The  dwarf  prostrated  himself  before  the  mighty  duke,  kissed  his 
feet,  and  promised  to  serve  him  faithfully. 

Thus  the  dwarf  was  for  the  present  provided  for,  and  did  honour 
to  his  office.  And  it  must  be  remarked  that  the  duke  had  become 
quite  an  altered  man  since  Nose  the  dwarf  had  been  in  the  palace. 
Formerly,  he  had  often  been  pleased  to  throw  the  dishes  and  plates 
that  were  served  up  at  the  heads  of  the  cooks ;  indeed,  he  even 
once,  in  a  fit  of  rage,  threw  a  fried  calf's  foot  that  was  not  suffi- 
ciently tender,  with  such  violence  at  the  head  of  the  master-cook, 
that  the  latter  fell  to  the  ground,  and  was  compelled  for  three  days 
to  keep  his  bed.  'Tis  true,  the  duke  made  him  amends  for  what  he 
had  done  by  some  handfuls  of  ducats,  but  still  no  cook  ever  came 
before  him  with  his  dishes,  without  trembling  and  terror. 

Ever  since  the  dwarf  had  been  in  the  palace,  all  seemed  to  be 
changed,  as  if  by  magic.  The  duke,  instead  of  three,  had  now  five 
meals  a  day,  in  order  to  relish  properly  the  skill  of  his  little  servant, 
and  yet  never  showed  the  least  sign  of  discontent.  Indeed,  he 
found  all  new  and  excellent,  was  kind  and  pleasant,  and  became 
fatter  daily. 

He  would  often  in  the  midst  of  a  meal  send  for  the  master-cook  and 
the  dwarf,  set  one  on  his  right,  and  the  other  on  the  left  hand,  and 
put  with  his  own  gracious  fingers  some  morsels  of  the  delicious 
viands  into  their  mouths;  a  favour  which  both  knew  how  to  appre- 
ciate fully.  The  dwarf  was  the  wonder  of  the  whole  town,  and  peo- 
ple requested  the  permission  of  the  master-cook  to  see  him  cook, 
while  some  of  the  principal  folks  prevailed  upon  the  duke  to  permit 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  113 

their  servants  to  profit  by  the  instructions  of  the  dwarf  in  his  kitchen, 
by  which  he  obtained  much  money,  for  those  who  came  to  learn 
paid  daily  half  a  ducat.  In  order,  however,  to  keep  the  other  cooks 
in  good  humour,  and  prevent  jealousy,  Nose  let  them  have  the 
money  that  was  paid  by  the  masters  for  instruction. 

Thus  Nose  lived  almost  two  years  in  great  comfort  and  honour,  the 
thought  of  his  parents  alone  saddening  him,  and  nothing  remarkable 
occurring  until  the  following  circumstance  happened.  The  dwarf 
being  particularly  clever,  and  fortunate  in  his  purchases,  went  him- 
self, as  often  as  time  permitted,  to  the  market,  to  buy  poultry  and 
fruit.  One  morning  he  went  to  the  poultry-market,  and  walking 
up  and  down  inquired  for  fat  geese  such  as  his  master  liked.  His 
appearance,  far  from  creating  laughter  and  ridicule,  commanded 
respect,  since  he  was  known  as  the  duke's  celebrated  cook,  and  each 
poultry- woman  felt  herself  happy  if  he  but  turned  his  nose  to  her. 
At  length  coming  to  the  end  of  a  row  of  stalls,  he  perceived  in  a 
corner,  a  woman  with  geese  for  sale,  who  did  not,  like  the  others, 
praise  her  goods,  nor  call  to  the  customers. 

He  stepped  up  to  her,  examined  the  geese,  weighed  them  in  his 
hand,  and  finding  them  to  his  liking,  bought  three,  with  the  cage 
they  were  in,  put  them  on  his  shoulders  and  trotted  home.  It  ap- 
peared singular  to  him  that  only  two  of  the  geese  cackled  and  cried 
like  others,  the  third  being  quite  quiet  and  thoughtful,  and  occa- 
sionally groaning  and  moaning  like  a  human  being. 

"  She  is  not  well,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  must  hasten  to  get  home 
and  dress  her."  But  the  goose  replied,  distinctly, 

"  If  thou  stick'st  me, 
Why  I'll  bite  thee, 
And  if  my  neck  thou  twistest  round. 
Thou  soon  wilt  lie  below  the  ground." 

Quite  startled,  the  dwarf  put  down  the  basket,  and  the  goose, 
looking  at  him  with  her  fine  intelligent  eyes,  sighed.  "Why  what 
have  we  here?"  cried  Nose.  "  You  can  talk,  Miss  Goose.  I  never 
expected  that.  Well,  make  yourself  easy;  I  know  the  world  and 
will  not  harm  so  rare  a  bird.  But  I  would  wager  something  that 
you  have  not  always  been  covered  with  feathers.  Indeed  I  was  once 
a  poor  squirrel  myself." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  the  goose,  "  in  saying  I  was  not  born 
with  this  disgraceful  disguise.  Alas !  it  was  never  sung  at  my  cradle 
that  Mimi,  tne  great  Wetterbock's  daughter,  would  be  killed  in  the 
kitchen  of  a  duke." 

"  Pray  be  easy,  dear  Miss  Mimi,"  said  the  dwarf,  comforting  her, 
"  for  as  sure  as  I  am  an  honest  fellow,  and  sub-master  cook  to  his 
highness,  no  one  shall  touch  your  throat.  I  will  give  you  a  stall  in 
my  own  apartments,  you  shall  have  enough  food,  and  I  will  devote 
my  leisure  time  to  converse  with  you.  I'll  tell  the  others  in  the  kit- 
chen that  I  am  fattening  a  goose  with  various  herbs  for  the  duke, 
and  at  the  first  opportunity  you  shall  be  set  at  liberty." 

I 


114  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

The  goose  thanked  him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  the  dwarf,  as 
he  had  promised,  killed  the  other  two  geese,  but  built  a  stall  for 
Mimi,  under  the  pretence  of  preserving  her  for  some  special  occasion. 
Instead  of  feeding  her  on  grain  he  gave  her  pastry  and  sweetmeats. 
As  often  as  he  had  time  he  went  to  converse  with  her  and  comfort 
her.  They  related  their  histories  to  each  other,  and  Nose  learnt  that 
she  was  the  daughter  of  the  enchanter,  Wetterbock,  who  lived  in 
the  island  of  Gothland.  Being  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  an  old 
fairy,  her  father  had  been  conquered  by  stratagems  and  cunning, 
and  out  of  revenge  the  fairy  had  changed  her  into  a  goose,  and 
brought  her  to  the  town. 

When  the  dwarf  told  his  history,  she  said,  "I  am  not  inex- 
perienced in  these  matters,  my  father  having  given  me  and  my  sis- 
ters what  instruction  he  was  allowed  to  impart.  The  story  of  the 
dispute  at  your  mother's  fruit  stall,  your  sudden  metamorphosis, 
when  you  smelled  the  herb,  as  well  as  the  words  the  old  woman 
used,  show  me  that  you  are  enchanted  through  herbs ;  that  is  to  say, 
if  you  can  find  out  the  herb  of  which  the  fairy  thought  when  she 
bewitched  you,  you  may  be  disenchanted."  This  was  but  poor  con- 
solation for  the  dwarf,  for  how  should  he  find  the  herb  ?  Yet  he 
thanked  her  and  felt  some  hope. 

About  this  time  the  duke  had  a  visit  from  a  neighbouring  prince, 
his  friend.  He,  therefore,  ordered  the  dwarf  to  appear,  and  said, 
"  Now  is  the  time  for  you  to  show  whether  you  serve  me  faithfully 
and  are  master  of  your  art.  The  prince,  who  is  now  visiting  me, 
keeps,  as  is  well  known,  the  best  table  after  me.  He  is  a  great  con- 
noisseur in  good  living,  and  a  wise  man.  Let  it  now  be  your  care 
to  supply  my  table  every  day  so  that  his  astonishment  shall  daily  be- 
come greater.  But  you  must  not,  under  pain  of  my  displeasure,  re- 
peat the  same  dish  during  his  visits.  You  may  ask  of  my  treasurer 
all  you  want,  and  should  it  be  needful  to  fry  gold  and  diamonds  you 
must  do  it.  I  would  rather  become  poor  than  forfeit  his  good  opi- 
nion of  my  taste." 

When  the  duke  had  concluded,  the  dwarf  bowed  most  respect- 
fully, saying,  "  be  it  as  you  say,  my  lord;  please  God  I  shall  do  all 
to  gratify  the  palate  of  this  prince  of  gourmands." 

The  little  cook  now  mustered  all  his  skill.  He  did  not  spare  his 
master's  treasures,  and  still  less  did  he  spare  himself.  He  was 
seen  all  day  at  the  fire,  enveloped  by  clouds  of  smoke,  and  his  voice 
constantly  resounded  through  the  vaults  of  the  kitchen,  for  he  go- 
verned the  scullions  and  under  cooks. 

During  a  fortnight  the  foreign  prince  lived  happily,  and  feasted 
sumptuously  with  the  duke.  They  ate  not  less  than  five  times  a 
day,  and  the  duke  was  delighted  with  his  dwarf,  seeing  satisfaction 
expressed  on  the  countenance  of  his  guest.  But  on  the  fifteenth  day 
it  happened,  that  the  duke,  while  at  table,  sent  for  the  dwarf, 
presented  him  to  his  guest,  and  asked  how  he  was  satisfied  with 
his  cooking?" 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  115 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  cook,"  replied  the  prince,  "  and  know 
what  good  living  is.  All  the  time  I  have  been  here  you  have 
not  repeated  a  single  dish,  and  have  prepared  every  thing  exquisitely. 
But  pray  tell  me,  why  have  you  not  all  this  time  prepared  that 
queen  of  dishes,  the  pie  called  '  souzeraine?' " 

The  dwarf  was  startled  at  this  question,  for  he  had  never  heard 
of  this  queen  of  pies;  however  he  recovered  himself  and  replied, 
"  My  lord,  I  was  in  hopes  that  your  serene  countenance  would 
shine  some  time  yet  on  this  court,  therefore  I  deferred  this  dish; 
for  with  what  dish  but  the  queen  of  pies  should  the  cook  honour 
the  day  of  your  departure  ?" 

"  Indeed  !"said  the  duke,  laughing;  "  I  suppose  then  you  wish  to 
wait  for  the  day  of  my  death  to  honour  me,  for  you  have  never  yet 
sent  it  up  to  me.  But  think  of  another  dish  to  celebrate  the  depar- 
ture, for  to-morrow  that  pie  must  be  on  the  table." 

"  Your  pleasure  shall  be  done,  my  lord,"  replied  the  dwarf,  and 
retired.  But  he  went  away  uneasy,  for  the  day  of  his  disgrace 
and  misfortune  had  come.  He  did  not  know  how  to  prepare  this 
pie.  He  went  therefore  to  his  chamber,  and  wept  over  his  fate, 
when  the  goose  Mimi,  who  was  allowed  to  walk  about,  came  up 
and  inquired  the  cause  of  his  grief.  When  she  heard  of  the  pie, 
"  Dry  your  tears,"  said  she,  "  this  dish  came  often  to  my  father's 
table,  and  I  know  pretty  well  what  is  necessary  for  it;  you  have 
only  to  take  such  and  such  things  in  certain  quantities,  and  should 
these  not  be  all  that  are  really  necessary,  I  trust  that  the  taste  of 
these  gentlemen  is  not  sufficiently  refined  to  discover  the  defi- 
ciency." 

At  these  words  the  dwarf  danced  with  joy,  blessed  the  day  on 
which  he  had  purchased  the  goose,  and  set  about  making  this 
queen  of  pies.  He  first  made  a  trial  in  miniature,  and  lo!  the 
flavour  was  exquisite,  and  the  master-cook,  to  whom  he  gave  the 
small  pie  to  taste,  praised  once  more  his  great  skill. 

The  following  day  he  prepared  the  pie  on  a  krger  scale,  and, 
after  having  garnished  it  with  flowers,  sent  it  hot  as  it  came  from 
the  oven  to  table.  After  which  he  dressed  in  his  best  and  went 
to  the  dining-hall.  On  entering,  he  found  the  steward  engaged 
in  carving  the  pie,  and  presenting  it  on  silver  dishes  to  the  duke 
and  his  guest.  The  duke  swallowed  a  large  piece,  turned  his  eyes 
upward,  saying  "ha!  ha!  ha!  justly  is  this  called  the  queen  of 
pies ;  but  my  dwarf  is  also  a  king  of  cooks.  Is  it  not  so,  my  friend?'* 

His  guest  took  a  small  morsel,  tasted  it  carefully,  and  smiled 
somewhat  scornfully  and  mysteriously. 

"  The  thing  is  made  pretty  well,"  replied  he,  pushing  his  plate 
away,  "  but  it  is  not  quite  the  Souzeraine,  as  I  well  imagined." 

At  this  the  duke  frowned  with  indignation,  and  turned  red, 
saying,  "  You  hound  of  a  dwarf,  how  dare  you  do  this  to  your 
lord?  I  will  have  your  big  head  cut  off  as  a  punishment  for  your 
bad  cooking." 

I  2 


116  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  said  the  dwarf  trembling,  "  for  Heaven's  sake 
have  compassion  on  me ;  I  have  made  that  dish,  indeed,  according  to 
the  proper  receipt,  and  am  sure  that  nothing  is  wanting." 

"  Tis  a  lie,  you  knave,"  replied  the  duke,  giving  him  a  kick,  "'tis 
a  lie ;  else  my  guest  would  not  say  there  was  something  wanting.  I 
will  have  you  yourself  cut  up  and  baked  in  a  pie." 

"  Have  compassion  on  me!"  exclaimed  the  dwarf,  shuffling  on 
his  knees  up  to  the  prince,  and  clasping  his  feet;  "  tell  me  what  is 
wanting  to  this  pie  and  why  it  does  not  suit  your  palate :  let  me  not 
die  for  a  handful  of  meat  or  flour." 

"  This  will  not  avail  you,  my  good  Nose,1'  replied  the  prince, 
laughing;  "  even  yesterday  I  thought  you  would  not  be  able  to 
make  this  dish  as  well  as  my  cook.  Know  there  is  wanting  a  herb 
called  Sneeze-with-pleasure,  which  is  not  even  known  in  this  coun- 
try. Without  it  this  pie  is  insipid,  and  your  master  will  never  eat 
it  in  such  perfection  as  I  do." 

At  this  the  duke  flew  into  a  rage,  and  cried  with  flashing  eyes : 
"  I  will  eat  it  in  perfection  yet,  for  I  swear  by  my  princely 
honour,  that  by  to-morrow  I  will  either  have  the  pie  set  before  you, 
such  as  you  desire  it,  or  the  head  of  this  fellow  shall  be  spiked  on  the 
gate  of  my  palace.  Go,  you  hound,  I  give  you  once  more  twenty- 
four  hours !"  cried  the  duke. 

The  dwarf  again  went  to  his  chamber  and  mourned  over  his  fate 
with  the  goose  that  he  must  die,  as  he  had  never  heard  of  this  herb. 
"  If  it  is  nothing  more,"  said  she,  "  I  can  help  you  out  of  the  diffi- 
culty, as  my  father  has  taught  me  to  know  all  herbs.  At  any  other 
time  your  death,  no  doubt  would  have  been  certain,  and  it  is  fortu- 
nate for  you  that  we  have  a  new  moon,  as  the  herb  is  only  then  in 
flower.  Now  tell  me,  are  there  any  old  chesnut  trees  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  palace?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Nose,  with  a  lighter  heart,  "  near  the  lake, 
about  two  hundred  yards  from  the  palace,  there  is  a  clump  of  them ; 
but  what  of  them  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Mimi,  "  the  herb  only  flowers  at  the  foot  of  them. 
Now  let  us  lose  no  time  but  go  to  fetch  what  you  want ;  take  me  on 
your  arm,  and  put  me  down  when  we  get  out,  that  I  may  search 
for  you." 

He  did  as  she  requested,  and  went  towards  the  gate  of  the  palace, 
but  here  the  porter  levelled  his  gun  and  said:  "  My  good  Nose,  it  is 
all  over  with  you,  you  must  not  pass ;  I  have  strict  orders  respecting 
you." 

"  But  I  suppose  I  may  go  into  the  garden,"  replied  the  dwarf. 
"  Be  so  good  as  to  send  one  of  your  fellow  servants  to  the  master  of 
the  palace,  and  ask  whether  I  may  not  go  into  the  garden  to  fetch 
herbs.  The  porter  did  so  and  permission  was  given,  since,  the  garden 
having  high  walls,  escape  was  impossible.  But  when  Nose  and  Mimi 
had  got  out  he  put  her  carefully  down,  and  she  ran  quickly  before 
him  towards  the  lake,  where  the  chesnuts  were.  He  followed  with 


NOSE,  THE  DWARF.  117 

a  heavy  heart,  since  this  was  his  last  and  only  hope.  If  she  did  not 
find  the  herb  he  was  resolved  rather  to  plunge  into  the  lake  than  to 
have  his  head  cut  off.  The  goose  searched  in  vain  under  all  the 
chesnut  trees;  she  turned  every  herb  with  her  beak,  but  no  trace  of 
the  one  wanted  was  to  be  found,  and  she  now  began  to  cry  out  of 
compassion  and  fear  for  the  dwarf,  as  the  evening  was  already  grow- 
ing dusk,  and  the  objects  around  were  difficult  to  distinguish. 

At  this  moment  the  dwarf  cast  a  glance  across  the  lake,  and  cried 
suddenly :  "  Look,  look,  yonder  across  the  lake  there  stands  a  large  old 
tree;  let  us  go  there  and  search;  perhaps  my  luck  may  bloom  there." 
The  goose  hopped  and  flew  before  him,  and  he  ran  after  her  as  quickly  as 
his  short  legs  would  permit  him ;  the  chesnut  tree  cast  a  large  shade, 
and  it  was  so  dark  around  that  scarcely  anything  could  be  distin- 
guished; but  suddenly  the  goose  stopped,  flapped  her  wings  for  joy, 
put  her  head  quickly  into  the  high  grass,  and  plucked  something 
which  she  reached  gracefully  with  her  bill  to  the  astonished  Nose, 
saying;  "  There  is  the  herb,  and  plenty  is  growing  here,  so  that  you 
will  never  want  for  it." 

The  dwarf  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  herb,  and  a  sweet  odour 
arose  from  it,  which  immediately  reminded  him  of  the  scene  of  his 
metamorphosis;  the  stalk  and  leaves  were  of  a  blueish  green,  bear- 
ing a  glowing  red  flower,  with  a  yellow  edge. 

"  God  be  praised !"  he  now  exclaimed,  "  What  a  miracle !  I  be- 
lieve this  is  the  very  herb  that  transformed  me  from  a  squirrel  into 
this  hideous  form ;  shall  I  make  a  trial,  to  see  what  effect  it  will  have 
on  me !" 

"  Not  yet,"  entreated  the  goose.  "  Take  a  handful  of  this  herb 
with  you,  let  us  go  to  your  room  and  put  up  all  the  money  and 
whatever  you  have,  and  then  we  will  try  the  virtue  of  the  herb." 

They  did  so,  and  went  again  to  his  room,  the  dwarf's  heart 
beating  audibly  with  anticipation.  After  having  put  up  about  fifty  or 
sixty  ducats  which  he  had  saved,  he  tied  up  his  clothes  in  a  bundle, 
and  said:  "  If  it  please  God,  I  shall  get  rid  of  my  burthensome  de- 
formity." He  then  put  his  nose  deep  into  the  herb  and  inhaled  its 
odour. 

Now  his  limbs  began  to  stretch  and  crack,  he  felt  how  his  head 
started  from  his  shoulders,  he  squinted  down  on  his  nose  and  saw  it 
became  smaller  and  smaller,  his  back  and  chest  became  straight,  and 
his  legs  longer. 

The  goose  viewed  all  this  with  great  astonishment,  exclaiming, 
"  Ah,  what  a  tall  handsome  fellow  you  have  now  become.  God  be 
praised,  there  is  no  trace  left  in  you  of  what  you  were  before."  Now 
James  was  highly  rejoiced,  he  folded  his  hands  and  prayed.  But 
his  joy  did  not  make  him  forget  what  he  owed  to  Mimi  the  goose; 
his  heart  indeed  urged  him  to  go  to  his  parents,  yet  from  gratitude 
he  overcame  his  wish  and  said,  "  To  whom  but  to  you  am  I  in- 
debted that  I  am  again  restored  to  my  former  self  ?  Without  you  I 
should  never  have  found  this  herb,  but  should  have  continued  for  ever 


118  NOSE,  THE  DWARF. 

in  that  form,  or  else  have  died  under  the  axe  of  the  executioner. 
Well,  I  will  repay  you.  I  will  bring  you  back  to  your  father;  he 
being  so  experienced  in  magic  will  be  able  easily  to  disenchant 
you." 

The  goose  shed  tears  of  joy  and  accepted  his  offer.  James  fortu- 
nately escaped  unknown  from  the  palace  with  his  goose,  and  started 
on  his  way  for  the  sea-coast  towards  Mimi's  home. 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  their  journey  was  successful,  that  Wet- 
terbock  disenchanted  his  daughter,  and  dismissed  James  laden  with 
presents;  that  the  latter  returned  to  his  native  town,  that  his  parents 
with  delight  recognized  in  the  handsome  young  man  their  lost  son, 
that  he,  with  the  presents  'that  he  had  received,  purchased  a  shop 
and  became  wealthy  and  happy. 

Only  this  much  may  be  added,  that  after  his  departure  from  the 
duke's  palace,  there  was  a  great  sensation,  for  when,  on  the  next 
morning,  the  duke  was  about  to  fulfil  his  oath,  and  to  have  the 
dwarf  beheaded  in  case  he  had  not  discovered  the  herbs,  he  was 
nowhere  to  be  found;  and  the  prince  maintained  that  the  duke  had 
let  him  escape  secretly  rather  than  lose  his  best  cook,  and  accused 
him  of  breaking  his  word  of  honour.  This  circumstance  gave  rise 
to  a  great  war  between  the  two  princes,  which  is  well  known  in 
history  by  the  name  of  the  "  Herb  War."  Many  battles  were 
fought,  but  at  length  a  peace  was  concluded,  which  is  now  called 
the  "  Pie  Peace,"  because  at  the  festival  of  reconciliation  the  Sou- 
zeraine,  queen  of  pies,  was  prepared  by  the  prince's  cook,  and 
relished  by  the  duke  in  the  highest  degree. 

Thus  the  most  trifling  causes  often  lead  to  the  greatest  result ;  and 
this,  reader,  is  the  story  of  u  Nose,  the  Dwarf. " 

G.  A.  F. 


AXEL. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  THIRTY  YEARS'  WAR. 
BY  C.  F.  VAN  DER  VELDE. 

THE  beautiful  Tugendreich  von  Starschedel  was  standing  in  the 
baronial  hall  of  her  ancestral  castle  before  the  pedigree  of  her  family, 
which  occupied  the  space  between  two  pillars  in  the  wall.  Her 
little  hand  powerfully  pressed  her  heaving  bosom,  as  if  it  wished  to 
check  the  violent  palpitation  of  her  agitated  heart,  and  her  dark 
blue  eyes  wandered  stealthily  from  the  gay  escutcheons  and  glanced 
through  the  lofty  arched  windows  into  the  open  riding-course,  in 
which  Axel,  the  groom,  was  just  then  breaking  in  a  young  stallion, 
with  all  the  grace  and  strength  of  the  horse-tamer  Castor. 

"  Well,"  said  Gundchen,  her  maid,  who  was  leaning  against  the 
window,  "  there  is  nothing,  in  my  opinion,  like  a  good  horseman. 
Only  look,  gracious  Fraulein,  how  the  untamed  animal  is  rearing, 
and  how  the  man  sits  on  him  like  a  puppet." 

"  That  is  a  silly  picture,  if  it  is  intended  to  be  flattering,"  said 
Tugendreich,  and  blushing,  she  stepped  to  the  window,  as  she  feared 
she  had  betrayed  herself. 

"  Do  not  torment  yourself  so  much,  Axel,"  cried  the  baron  from 
the  window.  "  You  and  Hippolytus  may  break  your  necks  toge- 
ther; he  is  sure  not  to  leap,  and  the  master  of  the  stable  has  given 
him  up  already." 

"  All  depends  on  the  rider,"  replied  Axel,  with  powerful  voice. 
"  He  shall  leap,  I  assure  you,  though  he  had  Wallenstein  and  Tilly 
on  him."  So  saying,  he  pressed  the  snorting  animal  with  great 
strength,  and  gallopped  with  him  to  the  end  of  the  course,  that  he 
might  better  leap  the  bar. 

"  A  devil  of  a  fellow  this  Axel,"  said  the  nobleman,  laughing  in 
approbation. 

"  Heavens  !"  shrieked  Gundchen,  "  there  will  be  an  accident," 
and  Tugendreich  suppressed  a  sigh  of  anguish.  With  frightful  side- 
leaps,  the  black  horse  furiously  galloped  towards  the  bar.  At  this 
moment  the  little  daughter  of  the  gardener  ran  across  the  course,  and 
frightened  at  the  approaching  furious  steed,  fell  just  under  his  fore 
feet.  Terror  prevented  the  spectators  from  crying  out,  but  Axel  saw 
the  child  af  the  critical  moment  when  the  hoof  was  raised  over  its 


120  AXEL. 

head,  and,  thinking  of  its  peril,  only  reined  the  leaping  horse  sud- 
denly in  with  such  force  that  he  fell  rearing  on  his  haunches. 

"  He  will  fall  back,"  cried  the  baron. 

"  I  cannot  look  upon  it,"  exclaimed  Gundchen,  holding  her  hands 
before  her  eyes,  and  Tugendrcich  leaned  against  the  recess  as  white 
as  her  veil.  In  the  meanwhile  Axel  had  given  the  horse  so  violent 
a  blow  on  the  head,  that  he  was  on  his  legs  again  and  stood  trembling; 
he  dismounted,  lifted  the  crying  child  gently  from  the  ground  and  kiss- 
ing it,  carried  it  to  its  mother,  who  came  up  running  and  shrieking. 

**  Gallantly  done,"  cried  the  nobleman,  "  but  the  experiment  might 
have  cost  your  life." 

"  Better  that  Hippolytus  and  I  should  die  than  the  innocent  child," 
replied  Axel.  He  mounted  again,  and  the  steed  now  knowing  his 
master,  leaped  readily  and  gracefully  without  a  run  over  the  high 
bar. 

"  Well  done,"  cried  the  nobleman  again.  "  Come  up,  you  shall 
have  a  bottle  of  wine  for  that."  "  I  must  first  cool  the  animal,"  was 
Axel's  short  reply,  as  he  rode  off  in  a  gentle  trot.  "  This  fellow  is 
not  to  be  bought  for  gold,"  muttered  the  baron  ;  "  but  he  sometimes 
assumes  a  tone  that  makes  it  doubtful  which  of  us  two  is  the  master 
and  which  the  groom." 

Tugendreich,  agitated  by  the  scene  she  had  just  witnessed,  was 
about  to  leave  the  hall.  On  her  way,  she  again  passed  the  pedi- 
gree, and  turning  her  glowing  countenance  upon  it,  a  black  escutcheon 
met  her  eye.  This  belonged  to  a  lateral  relation  whom  her  father  had 
only  recently  struck  out  on  account  of  a  misalliance.  With  a  gloomy 
foreboding  she  gazed  at  it,  then  cast  an  anxious  glance  upon  the  one 
bearing  her  name,  and  hurried  sobbing  from  the  hall. 

About  an  hour  after  this,  Tugendreich  met  the  dangerous  groom 
in  the  anti-room  of  her  father's  closet.  Their  eyes  flashed  as  they 
met  each  other,  but  both  immediately  looked  on  the  ground  while  a 
blush,  like  the  sky  tinged  by  the  rising  sun,  overspread  her  cheeks. 
"  The  gardener's  little  Rosa  has  recovered  from  her  fright,"  she  whis- 
pered softly,  "  I  have  just  left  her." 

"  May  heaven  reward  you,  Fraulein,  that  sent  you  upon  earth  as  a 
ministering  reconciling  angel  !"  cried  the  groom  with  transport. 

"  But  promise  me,  Axel,  not  to  ride  so  furiously  again  ;  I  have 
been  in  great  anxiety  about  thee,"  stammered  Tugendreich,  becom- 
ing confused  in  the  midst  of  her  speech,  as  she  had  not  yet  settled  in 
her  mind  as  to  whether  she  should  address  this  groom  by  "  thee,"  or 
"you."* 

"  About  me?  This  makes  me  indescribably  happy,"  said  Axel  with 
delight,  and  suddenly  raised  her  beautiful  hand  to  his  lips,  imprint- 
ing a  fiery  kiss  on  it.  At  this  she  appeared  angry,  withdrew  her 

*  Du  in  German  would  here  imply  more  familiarity  from  a  long  acquaintance  j 
Ihr  would  be  more  distant  and  cold. 


AXEL.  121 

hand  from  his  bold  grasp,  though  a  minute  too  late,  and  saying,  "  You 
forget  yourself,"  quickly  left  the  room. 

Axel's  eyes  followed  her  with  rapture,  and  he  then  entered  his 
master's  room  and  found  him  in  company  with  Magister  Talander, 
his  spiritual  adviser  and  factotum,  playing  chess,  and  exchanging 
high  words.  In  vain  did  the  excited  magister  prove  from  Damiano, 
Phillippo,  Carrera,  and  Gustavo  Seleno,  that  the  adversary's  piece 
which  threatened  one  of  the  squares  over  which  the  king  must  be 
moved,  was  one  of  the  five  impediments  to  castling  the  king.  In 
vain  did  he  assert  that  Palmedes,  Xerxes,  Satrenshah,  and  even 
Tamerlan  could  not  have  played  otherwise.  The  baron  stood  to  his 
own  opinion,  and  said,  the  absurdity  of  the  rule  was  so  evident, 
that  even  his  groom  Axel,  if  he  had  but  a  notion  of  the  moves,  could 
not  but  see  it. 

"  I  know  the  moves,  and  you  are  wrong,"  interrupted  Axel. 
With  open  mouth,  the  master  wondered  at  the  impudence  of  his  ser- 
vant, who  quietly  added :  "  You  forget  that  the  question  here  is  about 
a  paltry  king  of  chess,  about  an  indolent,  cowardly  despot,  who  is 
only  born  to  be  protected  by  his  people;  and  if  ever  compelled  to 
act  himself,  moves  in  a  narrow,  pitiful  circle.  It  is  quite  consistent 
that  such  a  king  should  take  the  only  important  step  in  his  life  with 
the  utmost  caution,  and  avoid  doing  it  if  there  is  the  least  appear- 
ance of  danger.  My  king,  indeed,  would  not  recognise  himself  in 
this  picture." 

"  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  talking  about  his  king?"  mut- 
tered the  old  baron.  "  Our  gracious  sovereign  is  the  elector  of 
Saxony." 

"  But  not  mine,"  was  Axel's  proud  reply.  "  I  have  the  honour 
to  be  a  Swede." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Magister,  tell  me  whence  this  fellow  gets  his 
pride,  and  bold  words?"  asked  the  baron  softly. 

"  Why,  I  have  already  had  my  meditations  on  that  subject," 
replied  he,  with  a  shake  of  the  head;  and  the  old  baron  said,  in  a 
commanding  tone  to  Axel:  "  There's  your  wine,  but  you  shall  drink 
to  the  health  of  our  lord  elector." 

"  Most  joyfully,"  replied  Axel,  filling  a  bumper,  and  raising  it  in 
the  air;  "  here's  to  the  health  of  your  noble  elector,  and  my  heroic 
king,  and  may  the  concluded  alliance  prove  a  blessing  to  Saxony 
and  to  Sweden  for  many  generations  to  come." 

"  Well,  that  is  something  new  again,"  replied  the  baron,  sarcas- 
tically; "  I  suppose  you  were  in  the  cabinet  when  the  alliance  was 
concluded.  Unfortunately  we  have  not  come  to  that  yet." 

"  We  have  come  to  it,  my  lord,"  replied  Axel,  familiarly  tap- 
ping the  baron  on  the  shoulder;  "  your  elector  is  no  chess  king, 
who  is  afraid  to  take  a  quick  and  decisive  step  that  shall  decide  the 
welfare  of  his  land." 

He  went  away,  and  the  two  old  gentlemen  sat,  struck  with 
astonishment,  staring  at  each  other,  like  the  pair  of  lions  at  Dresden. 


122  AXEL. 

In  melancholy  mood,  Tugendreich  was  standing  before  an  old 
decayed  shaft,  to  which  her  walk  had  brought  her,  and  her  maid, 
like  Fraulein's  little  spaniel,  was  crawling  about  among  the  bushes 
in  search  of  something.  At  this  moment  Talander  came  up  to 
them,  laden  with  a  large  bundle  of  plants  on  his  return  from  bo- 
tanising.  To  his  inquiries,  as  to  what  they  were  in  search  of, 
Tugendreich  informed  him,  that,  in  running  down  a  hill,  she  had 
laid  hold  of  a  branch,  and  twisted  from  her  finger  a  beautiful  sap- 
phire ring,  a  beloved  legacy  of  her  late  mother,  which  had  probably 
rolled  into  the  shaft,  as  they  had  at  present  searched  for  it  in  vain. 

'*  Oh,  what  youthful  levity !"  replied  the  magister,  in  a  grum- 
bling voice.  "  This  precious  stone  ought  not  to  have  been  merely 
valuable  to  you  as  a  remembrance  of  your  revered  mother,  but, 
having  been  dug  and  cut  out  under  particular  constellations,  it  was 
the  talisman  of  your  life.  Have  you  been  forgetful  enough  not  to 
remember  that  the  greatest  secrets  of  nature  lie  in  verbis,  herbis  et 
lapidibus?  A  foreboding  which  rarely  deceives  me,  tells  me  that 
this  loss  will  have  a  decisive  influence  on  your  fate." 

Tugendreich  listened  anxiously  to  the  words  of  the  old  tutor, 
which  she  was  wont  to  consider  as  oracles. 

"  Do  not  grieve  too  much,  however,"  continued  the  old  man,  in. 
a  milder  tone,  "  the  same  foreboding  tells  me  also  that  the  hand 
from  which  you  will  receive  back  the  lost  stone,  will  also  lead  you 
to  the  true  happiness  of  your  life."  Thus  saying,  he  walked  slowly 
down  the  foot-path  towards  the  castle,  while  Tugendreich  looked 
thoughtfully  after  him.  A  crackling  and  rustling  was  heard  in  the 
branches  of  an  old  pine-tree  standing  near  the  shaft,  and  from  its 
top,  which  touched  a  high  rock,  descended  a  sturdy  huntsman, 
boldly  leaping  from  bough  to  bough,  who  soon  stood  before  the 
astonished  maiden  as  Axel. 

"I  overheard  all,"  he  said,  with  rapture,  "  and  joyfully  will  risk 
my  life  to  make  good  the  prophetic  words  of  Talander.  You  shall 
see  me  either  with  the  ring  or  not  at  all.  In  the  latter  case  shed  a 
tear  over  my  grave."  And  before  the  Fraulein  could  raise  her  hand 
to  prevent  him,  the  audacious  man  rushed  into  the  shaft,  and  with  a 
dull  and  rumbling  noise  pieces  of  earth  and  stones  rolled  after  him 
into  the  dark  abyss. 

"  He  is  lost,"  sighed  Tugendreich,  sinking  into  the  arms  of  Gund- 
chen,  who,  astonished  by  the  clear  light  which  broke  upon  her  at 
this  moment,  could  not  feel  the  same  grief  for  the  lost  man. 

With  a  look  of  affection  Tugendreich  bent  down  over  the  shaft, 
so  that  Grundchen  thought  it  advisable  to  lay  hold  of  the  dress  of 
her  mistress  to  prevent  her  from  following  her  beloved,  should  she 
be  inclined  to  do  so.  A  joyful  sound  now  resounded  from  the  depth 
below,  and  immediately  Axel  was  struggling  up  the  shaft  through 
various  minerals  that  had  shot  out  in  the  shape  of  goblins,  and  with 
bleeding  hand  presented  the  lost  rin^  to  the  Fraulein.  With  a 
heavenly  look  the  astonished  girl  thanked  him,  while  tears  of  gra- 


AXEL.  123 

titude  fell  on  the  wounded  hand,  which  Axel  eagerly  kissed  away. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  the  blood  on  his  hand,  shrieked 
aloud,  and  insisted  upon  binding  the  wound  herself  of  which  she  had 
been  the  cause.  Slowly  he  offered  his  hand.  Not  seeing  the  hand- 
kerchief which  her  maid  offered,  the  Fraulein  took  her  own,  binding 
it  with  the  ribbon  of  the  bow  she  wore  on  her  own  bosom.  As  she 
let  go  his  hand  Axel  fancied  that  he  felt  a  gentle  pressure,  but  be- 
fore he  had  time  to  think  of  this  happy  moment  in  which  he  saw  a 
symbol  of  his  future  happiness,  the  lovely  girl  had  fled  like  a 
frightened  roe.  As  if  in  a  dream  he  slowly  pursued  his  way  to  the 
castle,  where  Talander  received  him  at  the  gate,  being  commissioned 
from  the  Fraulein,  and  ready  for  every  emergency,  took  out  his  case 
of  surgical  instruments  to  dress  his  wound  in  due  form.  While 
doing  this  the  old  man  said,  "  You  have  a  fine  hand,  almost  too  de- 
licately formed  for  your  station ;  I  suppose  you  have  also  seen  mili- 
tary service,  these  hard  parts  show  that  you  have  frequently  handled 
the  sword." 

"  Ah,  true,"  stammered  the  patient,  embarrassed. 

"  You  seem  altogether  a  strange  customer,"  continued  Talander 
*'  and  I  am  somewhat  curious  to  know  more  of  you.  Pray  just  show 
me  the  palm  of  your  hand." 

"Never  mind  such  fooleries,  magister,"  said  Axel,  withdrawing 
his  hand. 

"  Only  ignorance  judges  hastily  of  what  it  does  not  understand," 
said  the  magister,  angrily.  "How  can  you  thus  with  contempt  reject 
that  noble  chiromancy  to  which  I  have  devoted  myself  for  nearly  a 
generation."  Forcibly  seizing  the  wounded  hand  he  examined  it 
long  and  closely,  then  said,  muttering,  "  Well,  these  lines  indicate 
that  you  were  born  for  something  superior  to  a  stable.  This  line 
may  be  truly  called  the  cingulum  veneris,  it  promises  success  in  love ; 
and  here  are  fame  and  honour  and  high  dignities.  Ah,  ah,  friend, 
you  are  not  what  you  appear." 

"  Your  crotchets  deceive  you  in  a  singular  manner/'  said  Axel, 
embarrassed,  and  wishing  to  escape. 

"  The  old  Talander  is  no  woman^"  said  the  magister,  "  and  there- 
fore has  no  crotchets,  and  has  never  deceived  himself  yet."  And, 
retaining  his  hold  of  Axel,  he  added,  "  I  tell  you  pkinly  you  are  no 
groom,  and  if  you  were  not  a  good  evangelical  Christian,  and  had 
not  a  pair  of  clear  faithful  eyes,  through  which  one  may  imagine 
that  one  can  look  into  your  very  heart,  I  should  say  you  had  some 
wicked  design,  and  I  should  communicate  my  suspicions  to  the  baron." 

"  By  heavens  and  my  honour,"  cried  Axel,  warmly,  "  my  inten- 
tions are  pure." 

"  A  groom  may  indeed  be  an  honest  man,"  said  Talander,  mock- 
ingly, "  but  it  is  something  uncommon  for  him  to  give  his  word  of 
honour ;  it  sounds  rather  cavalier-like,  and  you  must  act  more  in  cha- 
racter. I  have  done  now,"  continued  he,  fastening  the  bandage; 
"  give  me  the  handkerchief  and  ribbon  to  return  to  the  Fraulein." 


124  AXEL. 

"  Never,"  cried  Axel,  as  he  concealed  the  precious  pledges  in  his 
bosom. 

"  '  Never;'  say  you,  youngster!  you  are  rather  too  bold  for  me," 
said  the  old  man,  menacing  with  his  finger.  "  Go,  settle  it  your- 
self with  the  Fraulein.  There  she  stands  in  the  garden,  near  the 
rose-tree,  herself  the  most  beautiful  rose  in  the  garden.  How 
wicked  must  be  that  worm  that  would  malignantly  approach  this 
flower  to  poison  its  sweet  bloom — are  you  not  of  the  same 
opinion  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  the  groom;  "  be  un- 
concerned about  this  sweet  flower  which  so  proudly  sets  forth  your 
care  as  its  gardener.  With  the  ray  of  love  it  will  bloom  more  beau- 
tifully, and  if  myrtle  and  laurel  shall  once  be  entwined  around  it  you 
will  weep  tears  of  joy." 

"  Amen,"  said  the  old  man,  with  emotion,  and  Axel  ran  to  the 
garden  to  Tugendreich. 

"  The  magister  demanded  from  me  the  handkerchief  and  ribbon 
in  your  name,  Fraulein,"  said  Axel;  "  I  only  bring  you  back  the 
former,  stained  with  the  blood  which  flowed  for  you.  May  it  speak 
a  friendly  word  for  poor  Axel,  when  some  day  he  will  sigh  far  from 
you.  The  ribbon  I  must  keep.  It  rested  on  your  angelic  heart,  it 
is  hallowed,  and  it  will  also  hallow  and  purify  the  heart  upon  which 
it  shall  rest  from  this  time." 

Tugendreich  wished  to  answer  but  was  unable,  she  wished  to  look 
up  but  could  not.  It  then  occurred  to  her  that  she  ought  really  to 
be  indignant  at  this  audacity,  but  that  she  could  do  still  less ;  and 
the  beautiful  rose  which  she  held  in  her  hand  became  the  victim  of 
her  inward  struggle,  for  she  plucked  off  leaf  after  leaf,  dropping  them 
on  the  ground. 

"  May  I  keep  the  ribbon?"  asked  Axel,  imploringly.  She  at 
length  raised  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  a  ray  of  love  flashed  powerfully 
from  them.  Enraptured  he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her; 
deeply  blushing,  she  sank  into  them,  and  he  pressed  the  first  pure 
kiss  of  ardent  love  on  her  lips.  At  this  moment  the  baron  suddenly 
appeared  from  behind  the  hedge,  contemplating  the  group  with  a 
truly  noble  horror.  "  Begone  to  the  castle !"  he  cried  to  his 
daughter;  "  to  the  stable !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  to  Axel. 
Like  a  finger-post,  he  pointed  to  the  places  mentioned,  and  the 
frightened  couple  obeyed  in  silence. 


In  anxious  expectation  of  what  would  follow,  Tugendreich  had 
been  standing  for  some  time  in  the  window  of  the  baronial  hall, 
from  which  she  had  in  the  morning  admired  Axel's  horsemanship, 
when  her  father  came  up  to  her  with  a  wrathful  countenance,  seized 
her  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  gigantic  portrait  of  the  ancestors  of 
the  Starschedels,  which  gloomily  and  menacingly  looked  down,  as  it 


AXEL.  125 

were,  from  the  gold  frame  upon  the  delinquent.  "  Who  is  that?" 
asked  the  baron,  with  suppressed  wrath. 

"  Magnus  von  Starcshedel,  the  founder  of  our  family,"  repeated 
Tugendreich,  words  which  had  been  impressed  on  her  memory  from 
infancy.  "  In  the  war  against  the  emperor,  Henry  IV.,  Duke 
Rodolph  of  Swabia  dubbed  him  knight,  A.D.  1078,  at  Stronow, 
near  Mellenstk'dt;  and  he  fell  in  the  battle  fought  against  the  same 
emperor,  near  Wiirzburg,  A.D.  1086,  after  his  valour  had  contri- 
buted to  gain  the  victory." 

"  What  think  you  this  glorious  knight  would  have  done,  if  he  had, 
like  myself,  seen  you  from  behind  the  hedge?"  asked  her  father, 
while  Tugendreich  cast  her  eyes  down  on  the  squares  of  the  inlaid 
floors.  "  He  would  have  cleft  the  head  of  the  unfaithful  servant," 
continued  the  baron,  raising  his  voice,  "  and  thrown  the  degenerate 
girl  into  the  dungeon,  until  he  should  have  placed  her  and  her  pas- 
sion for  ever  in  a  cloister."  . 

The  Fraulein  gave  a  silent  assent  to  the  justice  of  this  sentence. 

"  Tugendreich !  Tugendreich !"  continued  her  father,  reproaching 
her;  "  why  did  I  give  you  this  lovely  name?*  I  ought  to  have 
christened  you  Philippe,  for  Talander  has  interpreted  this  name  to 
me,  to  mean  a  lover  of  horses,  and  it  would  therefore  be  some 
excuse  for  your  predilection  for  the  stable." 

Now  a  feeling  of  pride  rose  within  her,  and  she  cried  "  I  deserve 
blame,  but  do  not  merit  your  contempt.  My  feelings  are  pure,  and 
I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  him." 

The  furious  impetuosity  of  noble  wrath  would  now  have  broken 
through  the  last  barrier  of  paternal  love,  when  fortunately  for  the 
poor  Fraulein  a  loud  shriek  of  terror  resounded  from  the  court-yard, 
and  Talander  entered  the  hall  with  a  countenance  as  pale  as  death. 
"  May  God  and  his  holy  gospel  protect  us,"  exclaimed  the  old  man. 
"  A  swarm  of  Croats  is  storming  through  the  country,  and  may  pro- 
bably come  this  very  night." 

"  Well,"  replied  the  baron,  with  affected  composure,  "  Saxony 
has  nothing  to  fear  from  the  troops  of  his  Imperial  Majesty." 

"  So  you  think,  my  lord,  but  I  do  not,"  rejoined  the  magister, 
trembling.  "  People  whisper  already  about  the  alliance  concluded 
between  Saxony  and  Sweden,  and  if  the  Croats  are  terrible  even  as 
friends,  may  Heaven  preserve  us  against  their  inroads  as  enemies. 
They  are  said  to  commit  the  most  awful  havoc  on  the  estates  of  the 
protestant  noblemen." 

The  baron  fell  into  an  arm-chair  as  if  thunder  struck,  and  Tugen- 
dreich was  wringing  her  white  hands  as  Axel  entered  the  hall.  A  hel- 
met covered  his  head,  a  sword  was  rattling  at  his  side,  and  before  the 
old  baron  could  think  of  his  wrath  against  him,  he  said  in  a  firm 
and  manly  tone,  "  The  Croats  are  approaching,  and  will  not  want  a 
pretext  for  committing  their  depredations  here  as  they  have  done 

*  The  name  Tugendreich  means  "  rich  in  virtue." 


126  AXEL. 

every  where  else ;  your  property  and  life,  and  the  honour  of  your 
lovely  daughter  are  in  jeopardy.  Nothing  but  a  bold  resistance  can 
save  you.  Isolani's  followers  spare  nothing,  not  even  those  who  sub- 
mit readily." 

"  Are  you  out  of  your  senses?"  asked  the  baron.  "  With  what 
force  am  I  to  begin  the  struggle  against  an  imperial  army?" 

"  Only  he  who  abandons  himself  is  abandoned,"  said  Axel.  "  This 
castle  has  high,  strong  walls  and  deep  moats.  I  have  raised  a  whole 
village,  and  have  armed  your  ranger  and  servants.  If  they  follow 
my  advice  they  will  all  take  refuge  here  with  their  property.  We 
must  give  up  the  village,  and  hold  out  here  until  succour  comes." 

Surprised  by  Axel's  bold  design  and  chivalrous  conduct,  old 
Starschedel  sat  there  as  incapable  of  opposition  as  of  coming  to  a  re- 
solution of  his  own.  "  The  means  are  desperate,"  said  Talander, 
"  but  I  see  no  other  way  of  proceeding." 

"  But  what  of  the  imperial  band?"  sighed  the  old  baron. 

"  We  do  not  resist  the  imperial  troops,"  argued  the  magister, 
cunningly.  "  We  only  protect  our  property  against  marauders  and 
robbers,  who  plunder  the  country  contrary  to  the  will  of  his  imperial 
majesty." 

"  Tell  the  people  from  the  balcony  that  I  act  in  accordance  with 
your  wish,"  said  Axel,  "  and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

Starschedel  looked  inquiringly  at  his  oracle,  who  returned  a  nod 
of  approbation,  and  submitted  patiently  to  be  dragged  to  the  balcony 
by  Axel,  where  he  delivered  general  orders  of  obedience  to  Axel, 
though  often  interrupted  by  shortness  of  breath.  A  loud  vivat  re- 
sounded from  the  robust  Saxon  youths,  who  were  eager  to  fight. 

With  proud  satisfaction  Tugendreich  looked  down  on  the  singu- 
lar groom  who  instructed  the  armed  band  in  the  court-yard  as  if  he 
had  been  used  to  military  duty  all  his  life,  assigned  to  every  one 
his  post  in  the  court-yard,  ordered  the  placing  of  men,  cattle,  and 
property,  and  then  sallied  forth  with  the  mounted  servants  to  re- 
connoitre the  enemy.  The  baron,  in  the  meanwhile,  buried  with 
trembling  hands  a  casket  of  jewels  in  the  cellar,  while  master  Talander 
looked  through  his  long  telescope  at  the  stars  which  now  began  to  ap- 
pear, compared  his  observations  with  the  singular  circles,  lines,  and 
signs  upon  a  large  table,  and  then  made  his  calculations  until  the  drops 
of  perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead,  examining  the  results  now  with 
a  joyful  nod,  and  now  with  a  thoughtful  shake  of  his  white  head.  At 
midnight  the  reconnoitring  corp  returned.  The  garrison  was  sum- 
moned with  beating  of  drums,  and  Axel  addressed  them  as  follows : 
"  The  Croats  will  presently  enter  the  village  and  will  not  spare  any 
thing;  the  sky  is  already  red  with  their  torches;  they  will  burn 
here  also,  but  we  shall  be  secure  behind  these  walls  while  you  show 
yourselves  to  be  men.  Bear  in  mind  that  you  are  to  fight  for  your 
good  lord  and  his  noble  daughter,  for  the  pure  doctrine  of  the  gos- 
pel, for  your  venerable  pastor,  for  the  honour  of  your  wives,  and 
for  the  lives  of  your  children.  Now  long  life  to  the  elector  1" 


AXEL.  127 


"  Long  life  to  the  elector !"  shouted  the  band  after  him, 
but  the  "  Hoch"  stuck  in  many  a  throat,  as  at  this  moment  the 
music  of  the  approaching  Croats  chimed  in  with  their  "  Vivat"  as  a 
flourish. 

"  To  your  posts,"  cried  Axel  in  a  thundering  voice,  and  then 
once  more  looking  to  the  draw  bridge,  he  ordered  the  gates  to  be 
secured  and  ascended  the  battlements  of  the  donjon.  A  wild  tumult 
was  now  heard  in  the  village.  The  Croats  searched  boisterously  for 
the  inhabitants  and  provisions  but  in  vain,  and  therefore  avenged 
their  disappointment  upon  the  doors  and  windows  of  the  cottages. 
At  length  a  troop  with  torches  galloped  up  to  the  castle,  startled 
at  the  drawn  bridge  and  sounded  the  trumpet  as  a  summons  for  ad- 
mittance. The  trumpet  within  the  castle  was  sounded  in  answer, 
and  Axel  asked  in  military  form  what  was  their  wish. 

"  Down  with  the  bridge  first,"  blustered  an  infuriated  captain  of 
the  Croats  in  broken  German,  "  and  then  you  will  see  what  we 
want." 

"  Show  us  the  orders  of  his  Imperial  Majesty  and  our  Elector,  that 
this  castle  is  to  receive  a  garrison,"  replied  Axel,  modestly,  "  and 
the  bridge  shall  immediately  be  lowered." 

At  this  the  foreign  barbarian  foamed  with  raged,  snatched  his 
carbine  from  his  saddle  and  fired  it  at  Axel.  The  bullet  missed, 
and  Axel  in  return  sent  a  bullet  from  his  gun  whizzing  through  the 
cap  of  the  Croat. 

"  This  is  to  teach  you  uncivilized  fellows  the  usage  of  war,  that  no 
shot  should  be  fired  during  a  parley,"  he  cried.  "  My  shot  was  only 
to  warn  you  of  this;  but  if  you  do  not  draw  off,  the  next  shall  be  in 
earnest."  Upon  this  the  captain  swearing  turned  his  horse  round 
and  galloped  madly  back  into  the  village  with  his  troops. 

As  Axel  was  turning  to  descend,  he  saw  Tugendreich  standing 
before  him  as  pale  and  motionless  as  a  statue.  "  For  heaven's  sake, 
Fraulein,"  he  cried,  "  what  are  you  doing  up  here?  this  is  not  a  place 
for  a  gentle  lady." 

"  I  heard  firing,"  said  the  lovely  girl,  sighing  deeply ;  "I 
thought  you  were  in  danger,  and  could  not  longer  remain  below." 

"Faithful  heart  I"  exclaimed  he,  with  emotion  and  affection. 
"  By  all  that  I  hold  sacred  I  will  some  day  requite  you."  And 
quickly  taking  her  in  his  strong  arms  he  carried  her  down  the 
steps,  and  consigned  her  to  her  attendant,  whom  he  strictly  enjoined 
not  to  allow  the  Fraulein  to  ascend  the  walls  again.  He  then  re- 
turned quickly  to  his  post,  as  he  already  heard  resounding  through 
the  night  the  march  of  the  approaching  enemy  threatening  the 
castle. 

Suddenly  the  thatched  cottages  of  the  villages  were  blazing  up  in 
a  terrible  manner.  Amid  the  light  of  the  flames  the  Croats  as- 
saulted the  castle  in  close  bodies  and  with  wild  fury.  But  the  gar- 
rison made  a  brave  resistance,  and  their  rifles  created  great  havoc 
among  the  enemies'  ranks.  Axel  was  everywhere,  and  though  the 


128  AXEL. 

Croats  attempted  in  different  places  to  scale  the  walls  by  the  aid  of 
ladders,  he  immediately  was  at  the  spot,  to  strike  down  the  fore- 
most, and  then  with  powerful  hand  to  precipitate  ladder  and  all 
into  the  moat.  For  an  hour  the  most  furious  combat  had  been 
raging  when  the  enemies'  trumpets  sounded  the  retreat,  and  the  in- 
furiated captain  who  led  the  rear  cried  out  with  a  savage  laugh, 
"  At  sunrise  we  shall  return  with  heavy  cannon,  and  show  you  who 
we  are." 

The  morning  dawned  after  a  sleepless  night,  and  found  the  two 
old  gentlemen  sitting  sorrowfully  in  Talander's  closet,  which  was 
bomb-proof.  The  lamp  was  nearly  out,  and  they  started  up  terrified 
on  hearing  the  trumpet  sound  outside  the  castle  walls.  After  a 
short  time  Axel,  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  cheek,  entered,  an- 
nouncing Baron  Grotta,  lieutenant-colonel  in  the  imperial  army, 
saying,  "  My  lords,  the  colonel  awaits  you  in  the  hall:  for  heaven's 
sake  show  no  fear,  and  let  the  magister  settle  the  terms  of  a  capi- 
tulation." 

He  consented  and  left  the  room.  On  arriving  in  the  hall  a  fine- 
looking  officer  met  him,  whose  countenance  might  be  called  beau- 
tiful, had  there  not  been  an  expression  of  defiance  and  haughtiness 
about  the  eyes  and  mouth  which  detracted  from  the  impression  first 
produced.  After  the  usual  civilities  had  been  exchanged,  the 
stranger  informed  him  that  a  division  of  the  imperial  army  was  to 
pass  through  the  village  on  that  day,  and  that  their  general  had 
learned  with  astonishment  the  audacity  with  which  the  castle  had 
opposed  their  light  troops ;  that  he  was  inclined,  however,  to  par- 
don this,  knowing  the  rapacity  and  outrages  of  the  Croats,  who 
made  no  distinction  between  friend  and  foe ;  but  that  now  he  ex- 
pected the  castle  to  be  surrendered  to  him  immediately. 

"  On  what  conditions,"  asked  the  astonished  baron. 

"  Methinks  you  ought  to  be  glad  if  an  imperial  general,"  said  he 
in  a  sarcastic  tone,"  after  what  has  happened,  once  more  kindly  invites 
you  to  trust  blindly  to  his  generosity.  At  all  events  it  is  more 
advisable  for  you  to  open  your  gates  than  to  let  our  cannons  burst 
them  open." 

At  this  moment  the  beautiful  Tugendreich  entered  the  hall,  fol- 
lowed by  a  servant  with  flasks  and  goblets.  Love,  with  its  joys  and 
sorrows  had  diffused  a  supernatural  charm  over  her  noble  coun- 
tenance, which  did  not  fail  to  produce  so  magical  an  effect  upon  the 
warrior,  that  he  at  once  in  a  gentler  tone  added  to  his  menaces  the 
question,  "  Is  this  your  daughter?"  The  baron  then  introduced 
her,  and  the  stranger  took  the  brimming  goblet  she  presented  to 
him,  and  in  a  polite  manner  asked  on  what  conditions  the  castle 
would  capitulate.  The  baron  pleading  indisposition  in  consequence 
of  the  nightly  assault  promised  to  send  his  chaplain  to  negociate, 
and  left  the  hall  delighted  to  be  released  from  this  purgatory.  The 
experienced  hero  now  addressed  himself  courteously  to  the  Frau- 
lein,  and  after  condoling  with  her  on  account  of  the  terrors  of  the 


AXEL.  129 

past  night,  and  expressing  his  satisfaction  at  being  able  to  con- 
tribute something  to  alleviate  their  present  situation,  was  beginning 
to  get  as  sentimental  as  it  became  a  soldier  in  the  thirty  years'  war, 
when  old  Talander  entered  bowing,  followed  by  Axel,  who,  un- 
armed, and  in  a  respectful  manner,  brought  in  writing  materials. 

"  In  the  name  of  my  noble  master  I  am  to  have  the  honour  of 
treating  with  you,  gallant  sir,"  said  he  in  a  submissive  tone;  "  we 
have  only  a  few  just  conditions  to  propose,  which  I  beg  your  gra- 
cious permission  to  state." 

"  Granted,"  said  the  colonel,  casting  an  expressive  look  at  the 
Fraulein,  which  told  her  it  was  only  on  her  account  that  he  granted 
any  conditions  whatever.  The  magister  began  to  read  the  following 
propositions  :  "  Unconditional  amnesty  for  the  past  night ;  liberty 
for  religion  and  her  servants  until  the  fate  of  this  country  is  decided; 
exemption  from  all  contributions  under  whatever  name  or  pretext 
they  may  be  demanded." 

"  Great  demands,"  interrupted  the  colonel. 

"  In  return,  Baron  Von  Starschedel  grants  to  the  troops  of  his  im- 
perial majesty  the  right  of  garrison  in  his  castle,"  continued  Talander. 
"  But  only  to  the  regiment  of  Tiefenbach,"  interrupted  Axel, 
hastily.     "  It  is  best  disciplined,  and  the  promise  which  your  general 
has  given  us  in  writing  is  a  security  of  the  capitulation  being  kept." 
With  angry  astonishment  the  stranger  looked  at  the  insolent  groom. 
Tugendreich  and  Talander  showed  consternation.      The  magister 
broke  the  silence  by  saying,  "  The  hasty  interruption  of  this  young 
man  reminds  me  of  two  important  points  which  my  old  head  had 
forgotten  ;  I  therefore  hasten  to  supply  them." 

While  the  magister  was  writing,  Tugendreich  observed,  in  a 
gentle  tone,  as  she  suddenly  became  conscious  of  the  influence  of  her 
sex,  "  So  gallant  a  man  as  the  colonel  will  certainly  do  his  utmost 
to  concede  such  reasonable  conditions." 

"  What  would  I  not  do,  for  a  kind  look  from  those  eyes  ?"  said 
he  tenderly,  and  he  took  from  Talander's  hands  the  points  he  had 
written  down,  made  a  military  bow  to  the  Fraulein,  cast  a  look  of 
contempt  on  Axel  as  he  departed,  and  was  soon  seen  to  gallop  through 
the  gate. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed,  when  the  chains  of  the 
drawbridge  and  the  creaking  of  the  gate  were  heard  again,  and  the 
colonel  gallopped  into  the  court-yard,  waving  the  signed  capitulation 
on  high  as  a  banner  of  peace.  With  great  respect  and  delight,  the 
baron  went  to  meet  him  at  the  castle  entrance,  and  the  welcome  offi- 
cer dismounted  with  graceful  ease  from  his  charger,  giving  the  bridle 
with  a  haughty  contempt  into  Axel's  hands,  evidently  to  make  him 
conscious  of  the  respect  which  was  due  to  him,  and  which  he  had  be- 
fore forgotten. 

One  of  his  fellow  grooms,  seeing  the  anger  which  flashed  from  the 
eyes  of  Axel  at  this  pointed  humiliation,  took  the  horse  from  him 
and  led  him  about.  The  colonel  did  not  fail  observing  this,  and  to 


130  AXEL. 

complete  the  mortification  of  the  insolent  servant,  he  set  his  foot  on 
the  steps  of  the  entrance,  and  called  to  Axel,  "  Groom,  my  right  spur 
galls  me,  loosen  it." 

"  I  will  let  your  groom  know  that  you  want  him,"  said  Axel 
haughtily,  "  if  you  will  have  the  condescension  to  tell  me  where  I  can 
find  him." 

The  colonel's  face  reddened  with  indignation,  and  addressing  the 
baron,  biting  and  grinding  his  teeth,  he  requested  him  to  remind  his 
groom  of  his  duty,  as  his  rank  demanded  he  should  insist  upon 
it.  The  baron  satisfied  his  demands  in  a  ludicrous  manner,  not 
knowing  in  his  heart,  of  whom  he  was  most  afraid.  Axel  shook  his 
head  in  silence.  "  Pray,  good  Axel,"  whispered  the  baron  entreat- 
ingly,  "  when  you  have  often  fastened  my  spurs,  will  you  refuse  it  to 
a  person  of  such  distinction." 

"  I  honour  and  love  you  as  a  father,"  said  Axel,  "  and  consider 
It  no  disgrace  to  serve  you ;  I  would  willingly  perform  the  most  me- 
nial services  for  you,  but  cannot  suffer  indignity  from  the  haughti- 
ness of  a  stranger." 

"  I  am  curious  to  see,"  said  the  stranger  scornfully,  "  whether  the 
master  or  the  servant  will  get  the  best  of  this  singular  dispute." 
And,  irritated  by  this  observation,  and  working  himself  up  into  a 
passion  in  order  to  gain  his  point,  the  baron  cried,  "  Either  you 
loosen  the  spurs,  or  you  quit  my  service  immediately." 

"  I  go,  gracious  master,"  said  Axel  most  respectfully.  "  I  know 
you  are  safe  for  some  time  to  come,  and  I  carry  with  me  the  delight- 
ful satisfaction  of  having  so  far  contributed  to  your  safety.  Remem- 
ber sometimes,  kindly,  your  faithful  servant;"  and,  shaking  heartily 
the  hand  which  the  baron  offered  him,  he  went  to  the  stable  to  pack 
up  his  knapsack. 

Absorbed  in  secret  dreams,  Tugendreich  stood  in  a  grotto  in  the 
garden,  and  did  not  even  hear  the  drums  of  a  company  of  Tiefen- 
bach's  regiment  which  was  entering  the  castle,  when  suddenly  Axel 
stood  before  her  with  the  knapsack  on  his  back.  "  Your  father  has 
dismissed  me  from  his  service,"  he  said,  with  emotion,  "  but  I  shall 
never  quit  yours,  sweet  Fraulein.  You  shall  soon  hear  of  me." 
With  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  offered  a  forget-me-not,  which  she  could 
not  refuse  accepting  from  the  hand  that  still  showed  the  scar  from 
the  descent  into  the  shaft.  "  But,1'  continued  he,  recollecting  him- 
self, "  this  keepsake  will  soon  be  destroyed,  therefore  take  another 
of  a  solid  material  from  my  own  native  country."  And,  taking  out 
a  Swedish  copper  dollar,  he  broke  it  with  gigantic  strength,  offered 
one-half  to  the  Fraulein,  and  said,  "  He  who  shall  bring  you  the 
other  half  will  come  from  me."  Before  Tugendreich  was  aware 
how  she  had  got  the  burning  kiss  which  glowed  upon  her  lips  he  had 
vanished,  and  Talander  stood  before  her  like  a  personified  lecture. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  delivering  it,  when  the  baron,  who  was 
somewhat  wearied  by  the  first  impetuous  demands  of  his  new  guest, 
approached  in  a  gloomy  mood,  and  asked,  astonished  a.nd  peevishly, 


AXEL.  131 

"  What  was  the  meaning  of  the  flower  which  the  Fraulein  was  still 
affectionately  contemplating  ?" 

"  I  was  just  disputing  with  the  good  magister  about  it,"  replied 
she,  with  genuine  female  composure,  whilst  she  wiped  away  her  last 
tears.  "  Being  my  instructor  in  botany,  he  thinks  he  can  make  me 
believe  any  tiling.  Only  think,  he  maintains  that  this  is  the  Myo- 
sotis  palustris,  or  mouse-ear,  and  it  is  evidently  the  Veronica  cha- 
maedrys,  or  germander,  which  moreover  rhymes  with  Talander.  Am 
I  not  right,  dear  father  ?"  So  saying,  she  bounded  away  out  of  the 
garden,  to  cast,  if  possible,  one  more  look  from  the  tower  after  her 
departing  favourite,  whilst  Talander  raised  his  hands  in  utter  asto- 
nishment at  the  consummate  ingenuity  which  his  timid  pupil  so 
readily  displayed. 

The  calamities  of  war  which  the  large  armies  marching  to  and  fro 
brought  upon  the  country  did  not  press  with  particular  weight  upon 
the  inhabitants  of  the  castle.  For  this  they  were  indebted  to  the  co- 
lonel who  was  quartered  within  it  with  his  company.  But  it  soon 
became  evident  that  his  services  were  not  altogether  disinterested,  for 
he  daily  made  nearer  and  more  evident  advances  towards  the  beau- 
tiful daughter  of  the  house,  and  ventured  many  a  time  to  storm  her 
heart  with  tender,  chivalrous  courtesy.  His  noble  demeanour  and 
manly  beauty,  in  addition  to  his  high  rank  as  a  soldier,  his  birth 
and  his  fortune,  powerfully  supported  his  suit.  But  an  invincible 
antagonist  was  in  Tugendreich's  heart  ;  the  image  of  poor  Axel  and 
the  half-copper  dollar  were  to  her  a  more  precious  treasure  than  the 
rich  necklace  which  Baron  Grotta  ordered  from  Dresden,  and  which 
she  was  forced  to  accept  by  the  command  of  her  father.  A  dim  fore- 
boding seemed  to  tell  the  proud  colonel  what  rival  he  had  to  contend 
with,  and  the  recollection  of  the  handsome  insolent  groom  and  the  scene 
with  the  spur  began  to  assume  the  shape  of  a  suspicion  which  produced 
ill  humour.  This  was  expressed  in  many  contemptuous  observations 
concerning  low-born  persons,  and  his  scorn  at  their  desire  to  force 
their  way  into  the  upper  classes  daily  wearied  the  patience  of  old  Ta- 
lander, who  entertained  very  high  notions  of  his  own  worth  as  a  man. 
When  it  happened  upon  one  occasion  that  the  colonel  in  his  presence 
boasted  rather  too  complacently  to  the  Fraulein  of  his  hereditary  pri- 
vileges, the  old  man  commenced  reading  a  passage  from  a  poem  which 
an  old  collegian  had  sent  him  from  Halle,  running  thus  :* 

"  Ye  who  prefer  your  dross  to  silver  pure  and  fine, 
And  think  your  glass  as  good  as  diamonds  from  the  mine; 
I  mean  you,  who  hi  lists  of  ancestors  take  pride, 
And  seem  so  many  noughts  set  other  noughts  beside; 
Who  worship  that  vain  idol— old  nobiliti£, 
Ye  truly  are  besotted— I  pray  ye,  pardon  me." 

*  From  a  long  poem,  printed  at  Leipzig  in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  called 
The  learned  nobility."  (Der  gelehrte  Adel.) 

K  2 


132  AXEL. 

The  colonel  looked  with  eyes  of  wonder,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
captatio  benevolentice  in  the  concluding  line,  expressed  no  forgiveness, 
at  the  daring  magister  who,  however,  was  not  silent,  but  continued 
reading. 

"  The  flags  your  sires  have  left,  of  what  avail  are  they? 
And  what  avails  the  plume  that  decks  your  arms  so  gay? 
The  helm  and  shield  bequeath'd  by  men  who  liv'd  of  yore, 
The  burnish'd  arms  ye  keep  a  thousand  years  in  store, 
Are  vanities ;  and  he  that's  wise  will  say,  indeed, 
When  real  worth  appears  they  must  perforce  recede." 

At  this  the  colonel  left  the  room  in  a  blustering  manner  as  if  he 
anticipated  the  sixteen  lines  of  the  poem  which  were  yet  to  come, 
and  with  which  Talander  intended  to  treat  him.  The  door  closed 
after  him  with  a  great  noise,  and  a  pressure  of  the  Fraulein's  hand 
thanked  the  grey  knight  who  had  so  victoriously  beaten  that  power- 
ful enemy  of  her  secret  wishes  out  of  the  field. 

But  this  satisfaction  was  not  of  long  duration.  The  colonel, 
despairing  of  obtaining  the  hand  of  his  chosen  one,  in  the  modern 
way,  that  is  to  say,  by  his  own  powers  of  persuasion,  chose  the  an- 
cient plan,  and  called  to  his  aid  paternal  authority.  Poor  Starschedel 
had  to  maintain  a  difficult  position  between  the  importunity  of  the 
noble  suitor,  the  tears  of  his  daughter,  and  the  veto  of  Talander 
who,  with  the  eloquence  of  a  confessor,  imposed  the  denial  as  a  mat- 
ter of  conscience  upon  his  protestant  master.  But  here,  as  every 
where  else,  power  and  rank  at  last  conquered.  The  colonel's  corps 
received  orders  to  join  Tilly's,  who  expected  to  fight  a  pitched  bat- 
tle, and  he,  therefore,  vehemently  urged  a  quick  decision.  The 
baron,  who  could  not  resist,  announced  to  his  pale  daughter  the  fol- 
lowing morning  as  the  day  on  which  she  was  to  be  betrothed,  adding 
with  the  utmost  energy  that  this  was  his  unalterable  will.  He  then 
left  her  quickly,  fearing  his  resolution  might  be  changed  by  her  im- 
ploring looks.  The  poor  girl  retired  into  the  garden  unconscious 
of  what  she  was  doing,  and  standing  before  the  rose-tree  which  had 
witnessed  the  first  kiss  of  Axel,  looked  sorrowfully  to  the  grotto  of 
his  last  farewell.  Suddenly  a  capuchin  friar,  with  a  white  beard, 
stood  before  her  silently  presenting  half  a  copper  dollar.  "  For 
heaven's  sake  tell  me  whether  you  come  from  Axel?"  cried  the 
lovely  maiden  trembling,  while  her  pale  cheeks  were  suffused  with 
blushes. 

"  I  come  from  him,"  replied  a  strong  unknown  voice.  "  He 
now  serves  as  dragoon  in  the  Swedish  army,  which  is  about  to  en- 
gage in  a  pitched  battle.  Before  this  takes  place  he  wishes  once 
more  to  see  you,  and  bid  you  farewell.  But  at  present  he  does  not 
venture  here,  and  therefore  entreats  you  to  meet  him  this  night  on 
the  Mordmlihle  in  the  scharfen  Thole.  You  may  bring  the  old  ma- 
gister with  you,  and  safe  conduct  is  provided  for  you  thither  and 
back.  Axel  will  wait  there  for  you  until  one  o'clock,  at  which  time 
his  duty  will  oblige  him  to  leave.  Will  you  come?" 


AXEL.  133 

tc  I  will  come,"  whispered  the  Fraulein,  after  a  short  struggle. 

The  capuchin  now  hastened  with  long  unfriar-like  strides  towards 
the  high  garden  wall,  climbed  it  nimbly  like  a  cat  and  disappeared. 
At  this  moment  Talander  entered  the  garden  to  speak  a  few  words 
of  consolation  to  his  pupil  concerning  the  terrible  morrow.  But 
his  words  of  unction  died  011  his  eloquent  tongue,  when  the  Fraulein 
made  him  the  singular  proposal  to  accompany  her  that  night  on  a 
promenade  to  the  Mordmiihle.  He  refused,  she  entreated,  he  re- 
monstrated, she  coaxed  him,  he  was  inexorable,  she  wept,  and  he, 
incapable  of  resisting  tears  from  such  eyes  said,  at  length  '  comedo.1 

Whoever  knew  the  Mordmiihle  could  not  but  think  the  demand  of 
Axel  hazardous.  It  lay  in  a  narrow  valley  formed  by  steep  rocks, 
and  lofty  black  pines,  through  which  rushed  the  dark  fierce  torrent, 
and  its  last  proprietor,  whose  soul  was  burthened  with  the  commis- 
sion of  many  murders,  had  fallen  by  the  hand  of  his  own  son.  The 
shepherds  only  dared  during  the  day  to  let  their  herds  graze  in  the 
rich  pasture  of  the  meadow  surrounding  the  mill.  As  soon  as  even- 
ing twilight  approached  every  living  thing  fled  the  awful  precincts, 
within  which,  according  to  popular  tradition,  only  the  spirits  of  the 
murdered  held  their  fearful  haunts.  Tugendreich  was  not  quite  free 
from  the  superstition  of  the  times,  but  strong  love,  which  conquers 
every  obstacle,  overcame  her  fear,  and  when  the  last  glow  of  evening 
in  the  west  reddened  the  sky,  she  had  contrived  to  get  rid  of  her 
father  and  the  importunate  suitor,  and  commenced  her  heroic  journey 
with  the  grumbling  magister.  As  they  came  to  the  last  heap  of  the 
ruins  of  the  desolated  village  he  drew  her  attention  to  four  tall  figures 
in  dark  clothes,  who  started  up  suddenly  with  a  clattering  noise,  as  if 
at  the  word  of  command,  from  behind  the  wall  of  a  cottage  that  was 
burnt  down,  and  accompanied  them  step  by  step,  surrounding  them 
on  all  sides.  Tugendreich  recollecting  the  promised  escort  walked  on 
fearlessly.  But  as  they  entered  the  valley,  the  moon  rising  from  be- 
hind the  lofty  firs,  and  the  church  clock  in  a  neighbouring  village 
striking  twelve,  she  felt  some  alarm,  and  now  fancied  she  heard  but 
too  distinctly  the  wheels  of  the  long  deserted  mill  in  full  motion, 
which  at  this  time,  and  under  these  circumstances,  could  not  be  caused 
by  any  one  but  evil  spirits.  Her  companion  silently  shared  her  fears 
and  thoughts,  being  moreover  already  so  terrified  by  the  figures  who 
accompanied  them  in  cloaks,  that  the  drops  stood  on  his  face.  At 
Length  he  broke  the  awful  silence,  saying : 

"  Child,  I  have  complied  with  your  wish,  I  have  put  my  life  in 
ieopardy  and  come  this  accursed  walk.  Now  tell  me,  daughter, 
what  do  you  wish  to  do  in  the  most  ill-famed  corner  of  this 
country?" 

"  To  bid  farewell  to  Axel,"  said  the  Fraulein,  "  he  has  appointed 
to  meet  me  here." 

"  To  Axel.  I  wish  I  had  known  that,"  muttered  the  magister,  add- 
ing in  an  admonishing  tone,  "  Have  you  perhaps  been  deceived  by  a 
hellish  phantom?  There  are  instances  in  which  the  evil  one,  with 


134  AXEL. 

divine  permission,  avails  himself  of  an  excessive  forbidden  love  in 
order  subtilely  to  destroy  a  soul.  The  place  and  time  of  your  ap- 
pointment are  not  in  accordance  with  my  notions  of  propriety.  Sup- 
posing your  singular  admirer  were  dead,  and  that  his  departed  spirit 
had  sent  you  this  summons,  and  was  waiting  for  you  in  the  Mord- 
miihle  with  his  outstretched  bony  arms,  to  draw  you  into  the  dark 
subterranean  bridal  chamber?" 

At  this  instant  the  speaker  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  and  long- 
continued  blast  of  a  bugle,  which  was  answered  from  the  mill,  the 
wheels  of  which  were  really  revolving  with  a  terrible  noise,  and 
emitted  a  thousand  silvery  sparks  which  were  reflected  by  the  moon- 
light :  a  tall  man  came  out  from  the  mill.  The  foremost  of  the  four 
attendants  approached  him  with  respect,  and  a  moment  after  Tugen- 
dreich  was  in  the  arms  of  Axel,  reclining  her  burning  cheeks  against 
his  beating  heart. 

"  Come  into  the  mill,  beloved  girl,"  he  whispered  imploringly, 
"  we  are  not  quite  safe  here  from  discovery.  You,  reverend  sir,  will 
bear  us  company.  I  thank  you  for  having  conducted  the  Fraulein 
hither." 

The  magister  followed  the  two  lovers,  shaking  his  head  in  doubts 
at  the  suspicious  dwelling. 

"  Let  every  thing  proceed  as  I  have  already  ordered,"  said  Axel, 
in  a  tone  of  command,  to  the  tall  figures  who  had  posted  themselves 
outside  the  door  like  statues,  "  and  do  not  stop  the  wheels  of  the 
mill  until  the  Fraulein  is  again  safe." 

He  now  conducted  his  beloved  into  the  only  habitable  room  of 
the  mill,  which  being  well  lighted  with  lanterns,  looked  tolerably 
cheerful,  while  a  camp  table,  set  out  with  flasks  and  cake,  invited 
the  weary  and  hungry  magister,  who  sat  down  a  camp-stool  near 
to  it.  Axel  affectionately  took  the  Fraulein  to  the  window ;  "and 
whilst  they  were  conversing  confidentially,  the  magister,  who  was 
enjoying  the  repast,  made  his  reflections  on  the  decent  preparations 
which  Axel  had  made  for  the  rendezvous,  and  which  were  not  in 
unison  with  the  plain  jacket  of  a  Swedish  dragoon  that  he  wore. 
But  his  ideas  became  more  and  more  confused ;  soon  he  had  hardly 
a  clear  conception  of  what  passed  through  his  mind;  and  when,  at 
length,  the  effect  of  the  long  walk,  his  age,  the  night,  and  the  gene- 
rous wine  closed  his  eyelids,  the  creatures  of  his  imagination  assumed 
the  shape  of  substantial  and  significant  dreams,  from  which  the  old 
seer  had  already  received  many  prophetic  warnings.  The  village 
clock  now  struck  one,  and  Axel  gently  disengaged  himself  from  Tu- 
gendreich,  in  whose  tears  the  rays  of  the  setting  moon  were  shining. 
"  I  must  go,  dearest,"  said  he.  "  Only  this  one  blissful  hour  could 
I  withdraw  myself  from  my  duty.  I  would  ask  you  to  accompany 
me;  but  my  journey  will  not  be  without  danger,  to  which  I  will 
not  expose  you,  and  your  father's  house  will  still  be  your  fittest 
residence.  To  escape  the  hated  betrothal  to-morrow,  you  must 
feign  illness.  Every  thing  may  be  gained  by  time,  in  the  unhappy 


AXEL.  135 

period  in  which  we  live.  If  God  preserves  my  life,  you  shall  soon 
hear  good  tidings  of  me ;  and  if  I  die,  let  the  thought  that  I  fell  in 
his  holy  cause  be  your  consolation."  Dissolved  in  tears,  she  clung  to 
his  neck,  and  thus  they  quitted  the  mill,  on  the  outside  of  which 
a  powerful  roan-colour  horse  was  pawing  the  ground.  "  Farewell, 
and  pray  for  me,"  cried  Axel,  with  a  trembling  voice,  and  he  cut 
off  with  his  sword  one  of  her  golden  locks  from  her  head  as  a 
remembrance,  clasped  her  once  more  in  his  arms,  leaped  on  to  his 
charger,  and  galloped  out  of  the  valley. 

Tugendreich  returned  to  the  ,room  in  which  Talander  still  sat 
dreaming,  his  venerable  wrinkled  countenance  being  gloomily  illu- 
mined by  the  lights  which  burned  low  in  their  sockets.  His  sleep 
became  more  and  more  troubled,  his  breathing  heavy,  and  his  half- 
open  eyes  stared  as  if  glancing  into  a  gloomy  futurity.  He  now 
commenced  talking  in  his  dreams.  "  Courage,  my  countrymen,'7 
he  muttered,  "  though  the  number  of  the  enemy  threaten  to  crush 
you ;  you  fight  for  God's  word,  and  liberty  of  conscience.  Behold  on 
your  banners  the  white  messenger  of  heaven,  spreading  his  shining 
wings;  behold  he  hovers  over  your  ranks;  he  announces  victory. 
Now  the  cannon  is  thundering.  Ah !  blood,  much  blood !  What ! 
my  Saxons,  fleeing?  Yet  no,  their  whole  force  is  still  standing 
firm,  a  proud  bulwark,  bidding  defiance  to  the  waving  masses  of  the 
enemy.  Brave  Swedes,  fight  fiercely,  and  the  aged  monster*  slowly 
yields,  grinding  his  teeth.  Heavily  the  arm  of  requital  lies  on  him ; 
the  bleeding  infant  menaces  him  from  amid  the  ruins  of  Magdeburg. 
He  yields,  he  flies,  the  day  is  won — triumph,  triumph,  the  good  cause 
prevails."  At  these  words  the  dreamer  started  up  from  his  slumber, 
and  recovered  slowly,  while  the  pale  Fraulein  contemplated  him, 
trembling. 

"  This  was  a  heavy  sleep,  child,"  said  he,  as  he  fetched  a  deep 
breath.  "It  is  fortunate  that  I  awoke;  it  was  too  much  for  this  old 
body  of  mine.  I  may  say  that  I  know  much,  but  the  dark  realm 
of  spirits  makes  one  pay  dear  for  the  knowledge  acquired  there." 

"  What  have  you  learnt  by  this  frightful  dream,"  asked  Tugend- 
reich, with  anxious  curiosity. 

"  Nothing  of  that  now,  Fraulein,"  said  the  old  man,  gravely. 
"  But  tell  me  what  has  become  of  Herr  Axel,"  he  asked,  looking 
cautiously  around.  "  I  saw  him  also  in  my  dream,  but  not  in  the 
jacket  of  a  dragoon." 

"  Ah !"  said  she,  sobbing,  "  he  has  just  gone.  He  could  no  longer 
delay,  for  a  great  battle  is  impending." 

"  Indeed  it  is,  but  be  of  good  cheer,  the  bold  Swede  will  survive 
it.  You  will  yet — "  here  the  magister  broke  off,  vexed  with  him- 
self, as  though  he  had  already  said  too  much,  and  prepared  for  de- 
parture. 

"  But  to-morrow,  dear  magister?"  sighed  she. 

*  Referring  to  General  Tilly. 


136  AXEL. 

"The  morrow  has  already  become  to-day"  said  Talander,  in  a 
comforting  tone,  and  your  hostile  constellation  has  lost  its  influence. 
Go  boldly  bark  to  the  castle  with  me.  My  awful  vision  has  shown 
me  many  things,  and  you  will  find  great  changes.  From  poor  Baron 
Grotta  you  have  nothing  more  to  fear  in  this  life.  But  come,  that 
the  daylight  may  not  surprise  us.  My  dream  was  a  long  one."  He 
now  led  her  out  of  the  mill  where  the  four  attendants  were  in  readi- 
ness. Under  their  escort  they  arrived  in  safety  at  the  castle,  at  the 
gates  of  which,  to  their  astonishment,  they  missed  the  sentinel  of 
Tienfenbach's  corps,  and  were  surprised  to  see  the  baronial  hall 
brightly  lighted  up. 

"God  be  praised  that  you  have  come,  you  have  been  absent  a 
long  time,"  said  her  maid,  who  was  waiting  for  her.     "  Two  hours 
ago  a  hasty  order  arrived  for  the  soldiers  to  start  immediately,  and 
the  colonel  will  also  depart  at  break  of  day.     Your  betrothal  was  to 
take  place  this  very  night,  but  as  neither  you  nor  the  magister  were 
to  be  found,  the  baron  began  to  suspect  and  your  father  showed 
great  displeasure.     Suddenly  some  horsemen  galloped  into  the  court- 
yard.    They  were  Saxons,  and  proved  to  be  Colonel  Von  Stars- 
chedel  and  his  son,  the  major,  with  six  carbineers.     Now  the  tables 
were  turned.     The  baron  had  to  congratulate  himself  that  these  gen- 
tlemen, respecting  the  right  of  hospitality,  did  not  take  him  pri- 
soner, for  his  men  were  gone  and  your  father  was  too  much  afraid 
of  these  relations  to  say  any  more  on  the  subject  of  your  bethrothal. 
Now  they  are  all  sitting  together  and  hardly  know  what  to  say  to 
each  other.     Only  come  and  see.     The  handsome  major  has  already 
asked  for  his  lovely  cousin  twice."     The  Fraulein  now  went  with  a 
light  heart  into  the  hall,  where  she  found  them  sitting  at  their  wine, 
the  colonel  and  the  Saxons  quickly  rose  on  her  entrance,  and  the 
major  hastened  towards  her,  not  a  little  astonished  to  see  that  the 
cheerfulness  that  was  formerly  expressed  in  her  countenance  had  fled, 
and  that  she  endeavoured  to  avoid  his  embrace.     But  this  did  not 
deter  him  from  offering  his  usual  courtesies  to  his  lovely  cousin, 
whilst  Colonel  Starschedel,  in  a  deep  voice,  told  her  attentive  father 
of  the  perfect  union  between  the  elector  and  the  king  of  Sweden, 
.and  the  generous   refusal  of  any  security  which  the  Saxons  had 
offered. 

The  imperial  colonel  could  no  longer  listen  in  quiet  to  their  con- 
versation. He  rose  and  took  his  leave  of  the  company  with  a  few 
cold  expressions  of  politeness.  No  one  attempted  to  detain  him,  and 
the  last  angry  look  with  which  he  turned  from  the  Fraulein  fell  upon 
Talander,  who  was  just  entering,  and  who  gave  a  singular  look  of 
compassion  at  the  departing  colonel.  He  then  posted  himself  behind 
the  chair  of  the  Fraulein,  who  felt  uneasy  at  the  attentions  of  her 
cousin,  whom  she  nevertheless  loved  as  a  brother.  With  deep  me- 
lancholy the  seer's  eyes  rested  now  upon  the  venerable  countenance 
of  the  colonel,  and  now  upon  the  youthful  manly  figure  of  his  son. 
At  this  moment  there  resounded  in  the  court-yard  the  tramp  of  a 


AXEL.  137 

horse,  and  the  magister  said  :  "  There  goes  the  imperial  colonel. 
We  shall  never  see  him  again,  like  many  another  who  is  in  the  prime 
of  life." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?"  asked  the  baron,  suddenly  inter- 
rupting him,  as  the  expression  of  his  old  inmate's  countenance  told 
him  that  his  words  were  prophetic.  A  general  and  mysterious  awe 
seized  the  company,  their  conversation,  which  before  had  been  so  ani- 
mated, stopped,  and  the  chirping  of  a  lark  which  hailed  the  morning 
dawn,  gave  them  a  welcome  pretext  for  retiring,  as  the  Saxons  had  to 
join  the  army  of  their  elector  on  that  day.  The  Carbineers  were  already 
mounted  in  the  court-yard,  the  colonel  took  a  parting  cup  with  the 
baron,  and  the  grief  at  parting  inspired  the  major  in  the  very  door- 
way to  try  to  extort  from  Tugendreich  a  confession  of  her  inclination 
and  a  promise  of  her  hand.  But  Talander  stepped  between  them  and 
said  with  paternal  warning,  "Young  hero,  you  are  riding  forth  to- 
wards on  a  great  day.  This  is  not  an  hour  to  form  a  worldly  al- 
liance. As  a  Christian  you  ought  first  to  think  of  your  end.  You 
are  perhaps  nearer  to  it  than  you  think.  Is  the  Fr'aulein,  if  you  fall, 
to  weep  as  a  widow  for  you  ?  This  would  be  mere  selfishness  and  not 
love.  Do  not  stretch  out  your  hand  so  hastily  after  the  myrtle  crown ; 
its  green  will  turn  to  blood  and  silver  ;  an  angel  will  perhaps  soon 
entwine  from  it  a  martyr's  crown  for  you."  Much  struck,  the  major 
looked  upon  the  seer,  whose  face  beamed  with  a  supernatural  light, 
then  offered  him  silently  his  hand,  pressed  a  brotherly  kiss  on  Tu- 
gendreich's  forehead,  and  soon  the  old  castle  stood  mourning  in  silence, 
all  the  guests  having  quitted  it. 


The  baron  sat  silently  and  gloomily  before  the  blazing  fire,  and 
Tugendreich  was  reading  to  him  from  Luther's  Bible. 

He  had  experienced  much  to  depress  his  spirits.  The  neighbourhood 
was  indeed  now  free  from  troops,  but  all  his  stores  were  either  con- 
sumed by  the  war  or  destroyed,  his  tenants  expected  support  from 
him,  and  in  Madgeburg,  where  his  capital  was  invested,  he  had  lost 
fifty  thousand  thalers.  Frightful  reports  were  moreover  circulated 
about  a  battle  in  which  the  Saxons  had  been  defeated.  In  this  state 
of  anguish  he  had  had  recourse  to  the  word  of  God,  and  his  daughter 
was  reading  to  him  in  a  mild  and  harmonious  voice  this  passage  from 
Sirach  : 

"  Who  is  ever  daunted  that  abideth  in  the  fear  of  God,  or  who  that 
hath  called  him,  is  despised  of  him." 

The  old  baron  shaking  his  head  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  Tugen- 
dreich read  on  : 

"  For  the  Lord  is  gracious  and  merciful,  forgiving  sins  and  helping 
in  the  time  of  need." 

u  Indeed  the  Lord  helpeth  in  trouble,"  cried  Talander,  who 
rushed  into  the  room  with  youthful  impetuosity,  holding  an  open 


138  AXEL. 

letter  in  his  hand.  "  The  Swedes  and  Saxons  have  fought  with  the 
formidable  Tilly  near  Leipsic,  and  have  defeated  him,  and  the  word 
of  God  is  again  free  in  our  dear  Saxony.  Here  is  the  confirmation 
of  it  which  an  old  friend  has  sent  me  from  Halle."  He  read  with  a 
joyful  trembling  voice,  "  On  the  7th  September  annicurrentis,  there 
stood  on  the  great  plain  of  Leipsic  more  than  75,000  men  opposed  to 
each  other  as  enemies,  and  it  was  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  happy  omen, 
that  shortly  before  the  engagement  a  snow  white  dove  perched  upon 
a  Saxon  standard  and  afterward  hovered  over  the  whole  line  of  battle 
of  the  protestants.  At  noon  the  cannonading  commenced,  the  Swedes 
attacked  and  were  at  first  victorious,  but  now  Tilly  threw  himself 
with  all  his  forces  upon  the  Saxons,  drove  them  back,  and  directed 
the  guns  taken  from  them  against  the  Swedes.  Some  Saxon  regi- 
ments, however,  held  out  bravely  until  the  Swedes  came  to  their 
assistance.  Then  old  Tilly  was  compelled  at  length  to  retreat,  and 
had  nearly  been  struck  dead  in  his  flight  with  the  butt  end  of  a 
pistol  by  a  captain  of  the  Rhinegrave  regiment.  He  arrived  here  in 
a  sad  plight,  and  upon  the  side  of  the  imperial  army  7600  have  been 
left  dead  on  the  field  of  battle.  The  body  of  the  allied  army  con- 
sisted in  twenty-six  pieces  of  artillery,  one  hundred  colours  and 
standards,  and  many  articles  of  value.  This  glorious  victory  was 
followed  by  the  capture  of  Leipsic,  and  was  purchased  dearly  by 
both  armies.  On  the  side  of  the  imperialists  the  Duke  of  Holstein 
died  of  his  wounds  as  a  prisoner,  and  there  were  killed  besides  the 
Generals  Schonburg  and  Erwitte,  the  Colonels  Plankhart  and 
Baumgartner  and  Lieutenant  Colonel  Grotta." 

The  Baron  Starschedel  clasped  his  hands  with  a  pious  ejaculation, 
and  Tugendreich  honoured  the  memory  of  the  fallen  enemy  and 
friend  with  a  tear.  "  The  Saxons,"  continued  Talander,  to  read  with 
great  emotion,  "  lost  General  Bindhof,  Colonel  Loser  and  two  Star- 
schedels."  "Merciful  God,  our  cousins !"  sobbed  the  Fraulein,  and  the 
old  baron  rose  trembling  from  his  chair,  took  a  pen,  beckoned  to  his 
daughter  to  follow  him  with  the  ink,  and  strode  to  the  baronial  hall, 
where  he  marked  the  appropriate  crosses  on  the  escutcheons  of  the 
beloved  relatives  in  the  pedigree,  whilst  some  tears  involuntarily 
rolled  from  his  eyes  to  the  ground.  Tugendreich  broke  off  some 
twigs  from  a  laurel-tree  standing  near  the  window  to  adorn  the 
pictures  of  the  fallen  heroes  with  deserved  wreaths,  and  the  ma- 
gister,  who  had  folio  wed  them  with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  continued 
to  read  with  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  sorrow,  "  Colonel  Starschedel 
fell  at  the  head  of  his  carbineers  while  resisting  an  assault  of  Tilly. 
On  this  occasion  the  Saxon  standard,  on  which  the  white  dove  had 
perched  before  the  engagement,  fell  into  the  enemy's  hands.  To 
leave  this  symbol  of  victory  in  their  hands  appeared  fatal  to  Major 
Starschedel,  and  a  young  officer  of  an  ancient  family  in  the  Swedish 
staff;  they  therefore  took  an  oath  to  rescue  it  from  the  enemy's 
hands.  Whilst  the  Saxon  died  the  death  of  a  hero,  the  Swede 
succeeded.  The  name  of  the  latter  was  Count  Gtildenlowe,  and  he 


AXEL.  139 

was  on,  the  field  of  battle  promoted  by  the  king  to  the  rank  of  colonel 
for  his  extraordinary  bravery,  and  for  having  led  the  regiment  of 
Courville,  after  its  colonel  was  made  prisoner,  three  times  against 
the  enemy;  also  receiving  permission  to  add  the  above  standard 
with  the  white  dove  to  his  coat  of  arms."  "  What  was  that?"  cried 
the  baron,  running  to  the  window  to  listen. 

"  That  is  military  music,  and  if  I  am  not  mistaken  Swedish," 
said  Talander. 

"  The  Swedes  are  entering  the  village,"  shouted  the  servants,  and 
Tugendreich  flew  to  the  turret  with  a  palpitating  heart  to  view  the 
passing  heroes.  The  march  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  behind  the 
trumpeters  of  a  regiment  of  dragoons  rode  its  colonel,  a  young  noble 
hero,  in  splendid  armour,  while  his  standard-bearer,  whose  uniform 
was  adorned  by  the  golden  lion  on  blue  ground,  carried  before  him 
the  rescued  Saxon  standard,  which  now  received  the  laurel  crown  as 
it  dropped  down  from  Tugendreich's  hands. 

"  That  must  be  Colonel  Guldenlowe,"  cried  Talander,  who  came 
panting  behind  the  baron  to  the  turret. 

"  Heavens!  it  is  Axel,"  cried  the  Fraulein,  as  the  colonel  looked 
up,  and  she  fell  senseless  into  her  tutor's  arms.  When  she  recovered 
she  found  herself  in  Axel's  arms,  and  on  looking  up  her  eye  met  his 
penetrating  glance. 

"  Well  have  you  stood  this  trial,  lovely  girl,"  cried  Axel  in  rap- 
tures. "  I  had  vowed  to  wed  only  that  girl  who  could  love  in  me 
the  man  and  not  the  count,  whose  love  should  be  more  powerful 
than  any  other  consideration  of  her  tender  sex.  You  have  stood 
your  trial,  and  mine  now  begins,  to  show  through  my  life  that  I  am 
worthy  of  such  a  heart." 

The  beautiful  Fraulein  sank  blushing  on  her  lover's  breast.  With 
tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes  the  old  baron  embraced  his  faithful  Talander, 
and  the  trumpeters  below  sounded  a  slow  and  solemn  "  Now  God 
be  praised." 

C.  A.  F. 


THE  SANDMAN. 

BY  E.   T.  W.    HOFFMANN. 

NATHANIEL  TO  LOTHAIRE. 

CERTAINLY  you  must  all  be  uneasy  that  I  have  not  written  for 
so  long — so  very  long.  My  mother,  I  am  sure,  is  angry,  and  Clara 
will  believe  that  I  am  passing  my  time  in  dissipation,  entirely  for- 
getful of  the  fair  angel-image  that  is  so  deeply  imprinted  in  my 
heart  and  mind.  Such,  however,  is  not  the  case.  Daily  and  hourly 
I  think  of  you  all,  and  in  my  sweet  dreams  the  kindly  form  of  my 
lovely  Clara  passes  before  me,  and  smiles  upon  me  with  her  bright 
eyes  as  she  was  wont  when  I  appeared  among  you.  Alas,  how  could 
I  write  to  you  in  the  distracted  mood  which  has  hitherto  disturbed 
my  every  thought !  Something  horrible  has  crossed  my  path  of  life. 
Dark  forebodings  of  a  cruel,  threatening,  fate  spread  themselves  over 
me  like  dark  clouds,  which  no  friendly  sunbeam  can  penetrate. 
Now  will  I  tell  you  what  has  befallen  me.  I  must  do  so,  that  I 
plainly  see — but  if  I  only  think  of  it,  it  will  laugh  out  of  me  like 
mad.  Ah,  my  dear  Lothaire,  how  shall  I  begin  it?  How  shall  I 
make  you  in  any  way  sensible  that  that  which  occurred  to  me  a  few 
days  ago  could  really  have  such  a  fatal  effect  on  my  life?  If  you 
were  here  you  could  see  for  yourself,  but  now  you  will  certainly  take 
me  for  a  crazy  ghost-seer.  In  a  word,  the  horrible  thing  which 
happened  to  me,  and  the  painful  impression  of  which  I  in  vain  en- 
deavour to  escape,  is  nothing  more  than  this;  that  some  days  ago, 
namely  on  the  30th  of  October,  at  twelve  o'clock  at  noon,  a  baro- 
meter-dealer came  into  my  room  and  offered  me  his  wares.  I  bought 
nothing,  and  threatened  to  throw  him  down  stairs,  upon  which  he 
took  himself  off  of  his  own  accord. 

You  suspect  that  only  relations  of  the  most  peculiar  kind,  and  ex- 
erting the  greatest  influence  over  my  life  can  give  any  import  to  this 
occurrence,  nay,  that  the  person  of  that  unlucky  dealer  must  have  a 
hostile  effect  upon  me.  So  it  is,  indeed.  I  collect  myself  with  all 
my  might,  that  patiently  and  quietly  I  may  tell  you  so  much  of  my 
early  youth  as  will  bring  all  plainly  and  clearlv  in  bright  images  be- 
fore your  active  mind.  As  I  am  about  to  begin  I  fancy  that  I  hear 
you  laughing  and  Clara  saying:  "  Childish  stories  indeed!"  Laugh 


THE  SANDMAN.  141 

at  me  I  beseech  you,  laugh  with  all  your  heart.  But,  heavens,  my 
hair  stands  on  end,  and  it  seems  as  if  I  am  asking  you  to  laugh  at 
me,  in  mad  despair,  as  Franz  Moor  asked  Daniel.*  But  to  my 
story. 

Excepting  at  dinner  time  I  and  my  brothers  and  sisters  saw  my 
father  very  little  during  the  day.  He  was,  perhaps,  busily  engaged 
at  his  ordinary  occupation.  After  supper,  which,  according  to  the 
old  custom  was  served  up  at  seven  o'clock,  we  all  went  with  my 
mother  into  my  father's  work-room,  and  seated  ourselves  at  the  round 
table.  My  father  smoked  tobacco  and  drank  a  large  glass  of  beer. 
Often  he  told  us  a  number  of  wonderful  stories,  and  grew  so  warm 
over  them  that  his  pipe  continually  went  out.  I  had  to  light  it 
again,  with  burning  paper,  which  I  thought  great  sport.  Often,  too, 
he  would  give  us  picture-books,  and  sit  in  his  arm-chair  silent  and 
thoughtful,  puffing  out  such  thick  clouds  of  smoke  that  we  all 
seemed  to  be  swimming  in  the  clouds.  On  such  evenings  as  these 
my  mother  was  very  melancholy,  and  immediately  the  clock  struck 
nine,  she  would  say:  "  Now  children,  to  bed — to  bed!  .  The  Sand- 
man is  coming,  I  can  see."  And  certainly  on  all  these  occasions  I 
heard  something  with  a  heavy,  slow  step  go  bouncing  up  the  stairs. 
That  I  thought  must  be  the  Sandman.  Once  that  dull  noise  and 
footstep  were  particularly  fearful,  and  I  asked  my  mother,  while  she 
took  us  away:  "Eh,  mamma,  who  is  this  naughty  Sandman,  who 
always  drives  us  away  from  papa?  What  does  he  look  like?" 
"  There  is  no  Sandman,  dear  child,"  replied  my  mother.  "  When 
I  say  the  Sandman  comes,  I  only  mean  that  you  are  sleepy  and  can- 
not keep  your  eyes  open, — -just  as  if  sand  had  been  sprinkled  into 
them."  This  answer  of  my  mother's  did  not  satisfy  me— nay,  in 
my  childish  mind  the  thought  soon  matured  itself  that  she  only  de- 
nied the  existence  of  the  Sandman  to  hinder  us  from  being  terrified 
at  him.  Certainly  I  always  heard  him  coming  up  the  stairs.  Full 
of  curiosity  to  hear  more  of  this  Sandman,  and  his  particular  con- 
nection with  children,  I  at  last  asked  the  old  woman  who  tended 
my  youngest  sister  what  sort  of  man  he  was.  "  Eh,  Natty,"  said 
she,  "  do  you  not  know  that  yet?  He  is  a  wicked  man,  who  comes 
to  children  when  they  will  not  go  to  bed,  and  throws  a  handful  of 
sand  into  their  eyes,  so  that  they  start  out  bleeding  from  their  heads. 
These  eyes  he  puts  in  a  bag  and  carries  them  to  the  half-moon  to 
feed  his  own  children,  who  sit  in  the  nest  up  yonder,  and  have 
crooked  beaks  like  owls  with  which  they  may  pick  up  the  eyes  of 
the  naughty  human  children." 

A  most  frightful  image  of  the  cruel  Sandman  was  horribly  de- 
picted in  my  mind,  and  when  in  the  evening  I  heard  the  noise  on 
the  stairs,  I  trembled  with  agony  and  alarm.  My  mother  could  get 
nothing  out  of  me,  but  the  cry  of  "  The  Sandman,  the  Sandman  !" 
which  was  stuttered  forth  through  my  tears.  I  then  ran  into  the 


Two  characters  in  Schiller's  play  of  "  Die  Kauber.' 


142  THE  SANDMAN. 

bed-room,  where  the  frightful  apparition  of  the  Sandman  terrified 
me  during  the  whole  night.  I  had  already  grown  old  enough  to 
perceive  that  the  nurse's  tale  about  the  Sandman  and  the  nest  of 
children  in  the  half-moon  could  not  be  quite  true,  but,  nevertheless, 
this  Sandman  remained  a  fearful  spectre,  and  I  was  seized  with  the 
utmost  horror 5  when  I  heard  him  not  only  come  up  the  stairs,  but 
violently  force  open  my  father's  room-door  and  enter.  Sometimes 
he  staid  away  for  a  long  period,  but  oftener  his  visits  were  in  close 
succession.  This  lasted  for  years,  and  I  could  not  accustom  myself 
to  the  terrible  goblin;  the  image  of  the  dreadful  Sandman  did  not 
become  more  faint.  His  intercourse  with  my  father  began  more  and 
more  to  occupy  my  fancy.  An  unconquerable  fear  prevented  me 
from  asking  my  father  about  it,  but  if  I — I  myself  could  penetrate 
the  mystery,  and  behold  the  wondrous  Sandman — that  was  the  wish 
which  grew  upon  me  with  years.  The  Sandman  had  brought  me 
into  the  path  of  the  marvellous  and  wonderful,  which  so  readily  finds 
a  domicile  in  the  mind  of  a  child.  Nothing  was  to  me  more  de- 
lightful than  to  read  or  hear  horrible  stories  of  goblins,  witches,  pig- 
mies, &c. ;  but  above  them  all  stood  the  Sandman,  whom,  in  the 
oddest  and  most  frightful  shapes,  I  was  always  drawing  with  chalk 
or  charcoal  on  the  tables,  cupboards,  and  walls.  When  I  was  ten 
years  old,  my  mother  removed  me  from  the  children's  room  into  a 
little  chamber,  situated  in  a  corridor  near  my  father's  room.  Still, 
as  before,  we  were  obliged  speedily  to  take  our  departure  as  soon  as, 
on  the  stroke  of  nine,  the  unknown  was  heard  in  the  house.  I  could 
hear  in  my  little  chamber  how  he  entered  my  father's  room,  and 
then  it  soon  appeared  to  me  that  a  thin  vapor  of  a  singular  odor  dif- 
fused itself  about  the  house.  Stronger  and  stronger  with  my  cu- 
riosity grew  my  resolution  to  form  in  some  manner  the  Sandman's 
acquaintance.  Often  I  sneaked  from  my  room  to  the  corridor,  when 
my  mother  had  passed,  but  never  could  I  discover  any  thing,  for  the 
Sandman  had  always  gone  in  at  the  door  when  I  reached  the  place 
where  I  might  have  seen  him.  At  last,  urged  by  an  irresistible  im- 
pulse, I  resolved  to  hide  myself  in  my  father's  room  and  await  the 
appearance  of  the  Sandman. 

By  the  silence  of  my  father,  and  the  melancholy  of  my  mother,  I 
perceived  one  evening  that  the  Sandman  was  coming.  I,  therefore, 
feigned  great  weariness,  left  the  room  before  nine  o'clock,  and  hid 
myself  in  a  corner  close  to  the  door.  The  house-door  creaked,  and 
the  heavy,  slow,  groaning  step  went  through  the  passage  and  towards 
the  stairs.  My  mother  passed  me  with  the  rest  of  the  children. 
Softly — very  softly,  I  opened  the  door  of  my  father's  room.  He 
sat  as  usually,  stiff  and  silent,  with  his  back  turned  to  the  door.  He 
did  not  perceive  me,  and  I  swiftly  darted  into  the  room  and  behind 
the  curtain,  drawn  before  an  open  press,  which  stood  close  to  the 
door,  and  in  which  my  father's  clothes  were  hanging.  The  steps 
sounded  nearer  and  nearer — there  was  a  strange  coughing  and  scrap- 
ing and  murmuring  without.  My  heart  trembled  with  anxiety  and 


THE  SANDMAN.  143 

expectation.  A  sharp  step  close — very  close  to  the  door, — a  smart 
stroke  on  the  latch,  and  the  door  was  open  with  a  rattling  noise. 
Screwing  up  my  courage  with  all  my  might,  I  cautiously  peeped 
out.  The  Sandman  was  standing  before  my  father  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  the  light  of  the  candles  shone  full  upon  his  face.  The 
Sandman,  the  fearful  Sandman,  was  the  old  advocate  Coppelius, 
who  had  often  dined  with  us. 

But  the  most  hideous  form  could  not  have  inspired  me  with 
deeper  horror  than  this  very  Coppelius.  Imagine  a  large  broad- 
shouldered  man,  with  a  head  disproportionately  big,  a  face  the  co- 
lour of  yellow  ochre,  a  pair  of  gray  bushy  eyebrows,  from  beneath 
which  a  pair  of  green  cat's  eyes  sparkled  with  the  most  penetrating 
lustre,  and  with  a  large  nose  curved  over  his  upper  lip.  His  wry 
mouth  was  often  twisted  into  a  malicious  laugh,  when  a  couple  of 
dark  red  spots  appeared  upon  his  cheeks,  and  a  strange  hissing 
sound  was  heard  through  his  compressed  teeth.  Coppelius  always 
appeared  in  an  ashen-graycoat,  cut  in  old-fashioned  style,  with 
waistcoat  and  breeches  of  tKe~same  colour,  while  his  stockings  were 
black,  and  his  shoes  adorned  with  buckles  set  with  precious  stones. 
The  little  peruke  scarcely  reached  further  than  the  crown  of  his 
head,  the  curls  stood  high  above  his  large  red  ears,  and  a  broad 
hair-bag  projected  stiffly  from  his  neck,  so  that  the  silver  buckle 
which  fastened  his  folded  cravat  might  be  plainly  seen.  The  whole 
figure  was  hideous  and  repulsive,  but  most  disgusting  to  us  children 
were  his  coarse  brown  hairy  fists ;  indeed,  we  did  not  like  to  eat 
what  he  had  touched  with  them.  This  he  had  remarked,  and  it 
was  his  delight,  under  some  pretext  or  other,  to  touch  a  piece  of 
cake,  or  some  nice  fruit,  that  our  kind  mother  might  privately  have 
put  in  our  plate,  in  order  that  we,  with  tears  in  our  eyes,  might, 
from  disgust  and  abhorrence,  no  longer  be  able  to  enjoy  the  treat 
intended  for  us.  He  acted  in  the  same  manner  on  holidays,  when 
my  father  gave  us  a  little  glass  of  sweet  wine.  Then  would  he 
swiftly  draw  his  fist  over  it,  or  perhaps  he  would  even  raise  the  glass 
to  his  blue  lips,  and  laugh  most  devilishly,  when  we  could  only  ex- 
press our  indignation  by  soft  sobs.  He  always  called  us  the  little 
beasts,  we  dared  not  utter  a  sound  when  he  was  present,  and  we 
heartily  cursed  the  ugly,  unkind  man,  who  deliberately  marred  our 
slightest  pleasures.  My  mother  seemed  to  hate  the  repulsive  Cop- 
pelius as  much  as  we  did,  since  as  soon  as  he  showed  himself  her 
liveliness,  her  free  and  cheerful  rnind  was  changed  into  a  gloomy 
solemnity.  My  father  conducted  himself  towards  him,  as  though 
he  was  a  superior  being,  whose  bad  manners  were  to  be  tolerated, 
and  who  was  to  be  kept  in  good  humour  at  any  rate.  He  need 
only  give  the  slightest  hint,  and  the  favourite  dishes  were  cooked, 
and  the  choicest  wines  served. 

When  I  now  saw  this  Coppelius,  the  frightful  and  terrific  thought 
took  possession  of  my  soul,  that  indeed  no  one  but  he  could  be  the 
Sandman.  But  the  Sandman  was  no  longer  that  bugbear  of  a 


144  THE  SANDMAN. 

nurse's  tale,  who  provided  the  owl's  nest  in  the  half-moon  with 
children's  eyes, —  no,  he  was  a  hideous  spectral  monster,  who, 
wherever  he  appeared,  brought  with  him  grief,  want,  and  destruc- 
tion— temporal  and  eternal. 

I  was  ri vetted  to  the  spot  as  if  enchanted.  At  the  risk  of  being 
discovered,  and  as  I  plainly  foresaw,  of  being  severely  punished, 
I  remained  with  my  head  peeping  through  the  curtain.  My  father 
received  Coppelius  with  solemnity.  "  Now  to  our  work  !"  cried  the 
latter  with  a  harsh,  grating  voice,  as  he  flung  off  his  coat.  My  father 
silently  and  gloomily  drew  off  his  night-gown,  and  both  attired  them- 
selves in  long  black  frocks.  Whence  they  took  these,  I  did  not  see. 
My  father  opened  the  door  of  what  I  had  always  thought  to  be  a  cup- 
board, but  I  now  saw  that  it  was  no  cupboard,  but  rather  a  black  hol- 
low, in  which  there  was  a  little  hearth.  Coppelius  entered,  and  a  blue 
flame  began  to  crackle  up  on  the  hearth.  All  sorts  of  strange  uten- 
sils lay  around.  Heavens  ! — As  my  old  father  now  stooped  down 
to  the  fire,  he  looked  quite  another  man.  A  frightful  convulsive  pain 
seemed  to  have  distorted  his  mild  reverend  features  into  a  hideous 
repulsive  diabolical  countenance.  He  looked  like  Coppelius :  the  lat- 
ter was  brandishing  red  hot  tongs,  and  with  them  taking  shining  masses 
busily  out  of  the  thick  smoke,  which  he  afterwards  hammered.  It 
seemed  to  me,  as  if  I  saw  human  faces  around  without  any  eyes — but 
with  deep  holes  instead.  "  Eyes  here,  eyes  !"  said  Coppelius  in  a 
dull  roaring  voice.  Overcome  by  the  wildest  terror,  I  shrieked  out, 
and  fell  from  my  hiding  place  upon  the  floor.  Coppelius  seized  me, 
and  showing  his  teeth,  bleated  out,  "  Ah — lime  wretch, — little 
wretch  !" — then  dragging  me  up,  he  flung  me  on  the  hearth,  where 
the  fire  began  to  singe  my  hair.  "Now  we  have  eyes  enough — a 
pretty  pair  of  child's  eyes."  Thus  whispered  Coppelius  and  taking 
out  of  the  flame  some  red-hot  grains  with  his  fists,  he  was  about  to 
sprinkle  them  in  my  eyes.  My  father  upon  this  raised  his  hands  in 
supplication,  and  cried  :  "  Master,  master,  leave  my  Nathaniel  his 
eyes  !"  Coppelius  uttered  a  yelling  laugh,  and  said  :  "  Well  let  the 
lad  have  his  eyes  and  cry  his  share  in  the  world,  but  we  will  examine 
the  mechanism  of  his  hands  and  feet.  And  then  he  seized  me  so 
forcibly  that  my  joints  cracked,  and  screwed  off  my  hands  and  feet, 
and  then  put  them  on  again,  one  here  and  the  other  there.  "  Every 
thing  is  not  right  here  ! — As  good  as  it  was — the  old  one  has  under- 
stood it  !"  So  did  Coppelius  say,  in  a  hissing,  lisping  tone,  but  all 
around  me  became  black  and  dark,  a  sudden  cramp  darted  through 
my  bones  and  nerves — and  I  lost  all  feeling.  A  gentle  warm  breath 
passed  over  my  face  ;  I  woke  as  out  of  a  sleep  of  death.  My  mother 
had  been  stooping  over  me.  "  Is  the  Sandman  yet  there  ?>'  I  stam- 
mered. "  No,  no,  my  dear  child,  he  has  gone  away  long  ago, — he 
will  not  hurt  you  !" — So  said  my  mother,  and  she  kissed  and  em- 
braced her  recovered  darling. 

Why  should  I  weary  you,  my  dear  Lothaire !  Why  should  I 
be  so  diffuse  with  details,  when  I  have  so  much  more  to  tell.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  that  I  had  been  discovered  while  watching,  and  ill-used  by 


THE  SANDMAN*  145 

Coppelius.  Agony  and  terror  had  brought  on  delirium  and  fever, 
of  which  I  lay  sick  for  several  weeks.  "  Is  the  sandman  still  there?" 
That  was  my  first  sensible  word  and  the  sign  of  my  amendment — my 
recovery.  I  can  now  only  tell  you,  the  most  frightful  moment  in  my 
juvenile  years.  Then  you  will  be  convinced  that  it  is  no  fault  of 
my  eyes,  that  all  to  me  seems  colourless,  but  that  a  dark  fatality  has 
actually  suspended  over  my  life  a  gloomy  veil  of  clouds,  which  I 
shall  perhaps  only  tear  away  in  death. 

Coppelius  was  no  more  to  be  seen  ;  it  was  said  he  had  left  the 
town. 

About  a  year  might  have  elapsed,  when,  according  to  the  old 
custom,  we  sat  at  the  round  table.  My  father  was  very  cheerful, 
and  told  much  that  was  entertaining,  about  his  travels  in  his  youth; 
when,  as  the  clock  struck  nine,  we  heard  the  house-door  creak  on 
the  hinges,  and  slow  steps,  heavy  as  iron,  groaned  through  the  pas- 
sage and  up  the  stairs.  "  That  is  Coppelius,"  said  my  mother, 
turning  pale.  "Yes! — that  is  Coppelius!"  repeated  my  father, 
with  a  faint  broken  voice.  The  tears  started  from  my  mother's 
eyes.  "But  father — father!"  she  cried,  "must  it  be  so?"  "He 
comes  to  me  for  the  last  time,  I  promise  you,"  was  the  answer. 
"  Only  go  now — go  with  the  children — go — go  to  bed.  Good 
night !"  . 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  pressed  into  cold,  heavy  stone, — my  breath  was 
stopped.  My  mother  caught  me  by  the  arm  as  I  stood  immoveable. 
"  Come,  come,  Nathaniel !"  I  allowed  myself  to  be  led,  and  entered 
my  chamber !  "  Be  quiet — be  quiet — go  to  bed — go  to  sleep  !"  cried 
my  mother  after  me ;  but  tormented  by  restlessness,  and  an  inward 
anguish  perfectly  indescribable,  I  could  not  close  my  eyes.  The 
hateful,  abominable  Coppelius  stood  before  me  with  fiery  eyes,  and 
laughed  at  me  maliciously.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  endeavoured  to 
get  rid  of  his  image.  About  midnight  there  was  a  frightful  noise, 
like  the  firing  of  a  gun.  The  whole  house  resounded.  There  was 
a  rattling  and  a  rustling  by  my  door,  and  the  house-door  was  closed 
with  a  violent  sound.  "That  is  Coppelius!"  I  cried,  and  I  sprang 
out  of  bed  in  terror.  There  was  then  a  shriek  as  if  of  acute  incon- 
solable grief.  I  darted  into  my  father's  room;  the  door  was  open, 
a  suffocating  smoke  rolled  towards  me,  and  the  servant  girl  cried: 
"  Ah,  my  master,  my  master !"  On  the  floor  of  the  smoking  hearth 
lay  my  father  dead,  with  his  face  burned  and  blackened,  and 
hideously  distorted, — my  sisters  were  shrieking  and  moaning  around 
him, — and  my  mother  had  fainted.  "  Coppelius ! — cursed  Satan, 
thou  hast  slain  my  father !"  I  cried,  and  lost  my  senses.  When, 
two  days  afterwards,  my  father  was  laid  in  his  coffin,  his  features 
were  again  as  mild  and  gentle  as  they  had  been  in  his  life.  My 
soul  was  comforted  by  the  thought  that  his  compact  with  the  de- 
vilish Coppelius  could  not  have  plunged  him  into  eternal  perdition. 

The  explosion  had  awakened  the  neighbours,  the  occurrence  had 
become  the  common  talk,  and  had  reached  the  ears  of  the  magis- 

L 


146  THE  SAtfDMAtf. 

tracy,  who  wished  to  make  Coppelius  answerable.  He  had,  how- 
ever, vanished  from  the  spot,  without  leaving  a  trace. 

If  I  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  the  barometer-dealer  was  the 
accursed  Coppelius  himself,  you  will  not  blame  me  for  regarding  a 
phenomenon  so  unpropitious  as  boding  some  heavy  calamity.  He 
was  dressed  differently,  but  the  figure  and  features  of  Coppelius  are 
too  deeply  imprinted  in  my  mind,  for  an  error  in  this  respect  to  be 
possible.  Besides,  Coppelius  has  not  even  altered  his  name.  As  I 
hear  he  gives  himself  out  as  a  Piedmontese  optician,  and  calls  him- 
self Giuseppe  Coppola. 

I  am  determined  to  cope  with  him,  and  to  avenge  my  father's 
death,  be  the  issue  what  it  may. 

Tell  my  mother  nothing  of  the  hideous  monster's  appearance.  Re- 
member me  to  my  dear  sweet  Clara,  to  whom  I  will  write  in  a 
calmer  mood. — Farewell. 

CLARA  TO  NATHANIEL. 

It  is  true  that  you  have  not  written  to  me  for  a  long  time,  but 
nevertheless  I  believe  that  I  am  still  in  your  mind  and  thoughts. 
For  assuredly  you  were  thinking  of  me  most  intently,  when  design- 
ing to  send  your  last  letter  to  my  brother  Lothaire,  you  directed 
it  to  me,  instead  of  him.  I  joyfully  opened  the  letter,  and  did 
not  perceive  my  error  till  I  came  to  the  words  :  "  Ah,  my  dear 
Lothaire."  Now,  by  rights  I  should  have  read  no  farther,  but 
should  have  handed  over  the  letter  to  my  brother.  Although  you 
have  often  in  your  childish  teasing  mood,  charged  me  with  having 
such  a  quiet,  womanish,  steady  disposition,  that  like  the  lady,  even 
if  the  house  were  about  to  fall  in,  I  should  smooth  down  a  wrong 
fold  in  the  window  curtain  before  I  ran  away,  I  can  hardly  tell 
you  how  your  letter  shocked  me.  I  could  scarcely  breathe, — my 
eyes  became  dizzy.  Ah,  my  dear  Nathaniel,  how  could  such  a  hor- 
rible event  have  crossed  your  life?  To  be  parted  from  you,  never  to 
see  you  again, — the  thought  darted  through  my  breast  like  a  burn- 
ing dagger.  I  read  and  read.  Your  description  of  the  repulsive 
Coppelius  is  terrific.  For  the  first  time  I  learned,  how  your  good 
old  father  died  a  shocking  violent  death.  My  brother  Lothaire, 
to  whom  I  gave  up  the  letter  as  his  property,  sought  to  calm  me, 
but  in  vain.  The  fatal  barometer-maker,  Giuseppe  Coppola  followed 
me  at  every  step,  and  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  that  he  dis- 
turbed my  healthy  and  generally  peaceful  sleep  with  all  sorts  of  hor- 
rible visions.  Yet  soon, — even  the  next  day,  I  was  quite  changed 
again.  Do  not  be  offended,  dearest  one,  if  Lothaire  tells  you,  that 
in  spite  of  your  strange  misgiving,  that  Coppelius  will  in  some  man- 
ner injure  you,  I  am  in  the  same  cheerful  unembarrassed  frame  of 
mind  as  ever. 

I  will  honestly  confess  to  you  that,  according  to  my  opinion,  all 
the  terrible  things  of  which  you  speak,  merely  occurred  in  your  own 


SANDMAK.  147 

mind,  and  that  the  actual  external  world  had  little  to  do  with  them. 
Old  Coppelius  may  have  been  repulsive  enough,  but  his  hatred  of 
children  was  what  really  caused  the  abhorrence  of  your  children  to- 
wards him. 

In  your  childish  mind  the  frightful  sandman  in  the  nursed  tale  was 
naturally  associated  with  old  Coppelius,  who,  even  if  you  had  not  be- 
lieved in  the  sandman,  would  still  have  been  a  spectral  monster, 
especially  dangerous  to  children.  The  awful  nightly  occupation  with 
your  father,  was  no  more  than  this,  that  both  secretly  made  alchemi- 
cal experiments,  and  with  these  your  mother  wras  constantlydissatis- 
ficd,  since  besides  a  great  deal  of  money  being  uselessly  wasted,  your 
father's  mind  being  filled  with  a  fallacious  desire  after  higher  wisdom 
was  alienated  from  his  family — as  they  say,  is  always  the  case  with 
such  experimenalists.  Your  father  no  doubt,  by  some  act  of  care- 
lessness, occasioned  his  own  death,  of  which  Coppelius  was  com- 
pletely guiltless.  Would  you  believe  it,  that  I  yesterday  asked  our 
neighbour,  the  clever  apothecary,  whether  such  a  sudden  and  fatal  ex- 
plosion was  possible  in  such  chemical  experiments?  "Certainly," 
he  replied,  and  in  his  way  told  me  at  great  length  and  very  cir- 
cumstantially how  such  an  event  might  take  place,  uttering  a  num- 
ber of  strange-sounding  names,  which  I  am  unable  to  recollect. 
Now,  I  know  you  will  be  angry  with  your  Clara ;  you  will  say  that 
her  cold  disposition  is  impenetrable  to  every  ray  of  the  mysterious, 
which  often  embraces  man  with  invisible  arms,  that  she  only  sees  the 
varigated  surface  of  the  world,  and  has  the  delight  of  a  silly  child,  at 
some  gold-glittering  fruit,  which  contains  within  it  a  deadly  poison. 
Ah !  my  dear  Nathaniel !  Do  you  not  then  believe  that  even 
in  free,  cheerful,  careless  minds,  here  may  dwell  the  suspicion  of 
some  dread  power,  which  endeavours  to  destroy  us  in  our  own 
selves?  Forgive  me,  if  I,  a  silly  girl,  presume  in  any  manner  to 
indicate,  what  I  really  think  of  such  an  internal  struggle;  I  shall  not 
find  out  the  right  words  after  all,  and  you  will  laugh  at  me,  not  be- 
cause my  thoughts  arc  foolish,  but  because  I  set  about  so  clumsily  to 
express  them. 

If  there  is  a  dark  power,  which  with  such  enmity  and  treachery 
lays  a  thread  within  us,  by  which  it  holds  us  fast,  and  draws  us 
along  a  path  of  peril  and  destruction,  which  we  should  not  other- 
wise have  trod;  if,  I  say,  there  is  such  a  power,  it  must  form  itself 
within  us,  or  from  ourselves;  indeed,  become  identical  with  our- 
selves, for  it  is  only  in  this  condition  that  we  can  believe  in  it,  and 
grant  it  the  room  which  it  requires,  to  accomplish  its  secret  work. 
Now,  if  we  have  a  mind,  which  is  sufficiently  firm,  sufficiently 
strengthened  by  cheerful  life,  always  to  recognise  this  strange  hos- 
tile operation  as  such,  and  calmly  to  follow  the  path  which  be- 
longs to  our  inclination  and  calling,  then  will  the  dark  power  fail  in 
its  attempt  to  gain  a  power,  that  shall  be  a  reflection  of  ourselves. 
Lothaire  adds  that  it  is  certain,  that  the  dark  physical  power,  if  of  our 
own  accord,  we  have  yielded  ourselves  up  to  it,  often  draws  within  us 

L2 


148  THE  SANDMAN* 

some  strange  form,  which  the  external  world  has  thrown  in  our  way, 
so  that  we  ourselves  kindle  the  spirit,  which,  as  we  in  our  strange  de- 
lusion believe,  speaks  to  us  in  that  form.  It  is  the  phantom  of  our 
own  selves,  the  close  relationship  with  which,  and  its  deep  operation  on 
our  mind  casts  us  into  hell,  or  transports  us  into  heaven.  You  see, 
dear  Nathaniel,  that  I  and  my  brother  Lothaire  have  freely  given 
our  opinion  on  the  subject  of  dark  powers,  which  subject,  now  I  find 
I  have  not  been  able  to  write  down  the  chief  part  without  trouble, 
appears  to  me  somewhat  deep.  Lothaire's  last  words  I  do  not  quite 
comprehend.  I  can  only  suspect  what  he  means,  and  yet  I  feel  as  if 
it  were  all  very  true.  I  beg  of  you,  get  the  ugly  advocate,  Coppelius, 
and  the  barometer-seller,  Giuseppe  Coppola,  quite  out  of  your  head. 
Be  convinced  that  these  strange  fears  have  no  power  over  you,  and 
that  it  is  only  a  belief  in  their  hostile  influence  that  can  make  them 
hostile  in  reality. "  If  the  great  excitement  of  your  mind  did  not  speak 
from  every  line  of  your  letter,  if  your  situation  did  not  give  me  the 
deepest  pain,  I  could  joke  about  the  Sandman -Advocate,  and  the 
barometer-seller,  Coppelius.  Be  cheerful,  I  have  determined  to  ap- 
pear before  you  as  your  guardian-spirit,  and  if  the  ugly  Coppelius 
takes  it  in  his  head  to  annoy  you  in  your  dreams,  to  scare  him  away 
with  loud  peals  of  laughter.  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid  of  him  nor  of  his 
disgusting  hands;  he  shall  neither  spoil  my  sweetmeats  as  an  ad- 
vocate, nor  my  eyes  as  a  sandman.  Ever  yours,  my  dear  Nathaniel. 

NATHANIEL  TO  LOTHAIRE. 

I  am  very  sorry  that  in  consequence  of  the  error  occasioned  by  my 
wandering  state  of  mind,  Clara  broke  open  the  letter  intended  for 
you,  and  read  it.  She  has  written  me  a  very  profound  philosophical 
epistle,  in  which  she  proves,  at  great  length,  that  Coppelius  and  Cop- 
pola only  exist  in  my  own  mind,  and  are  phantoms  of  myself,  which 
will  be  dissipated  directly  I  recognise  them  as  such.  Indeed,  one  could 
not  believe  that  the  mind  which  often  peers  out  of  those  bright, 
smiling,  childish  eyes,  like  a  sweet  charming  dream,  could  define  with 
such  intelligence,  in  such  a  professor-like  manner.  She  appeals  to 
you — you,  it  seems  have  been  talking  about  me.  I  suppose  you  read 
her  logical  lectures,  that  she  may  learn  to  divide  and  sift  every  thing 
acutely.  Pray  leave  it  off.  Besides  it  is  quite  certain  that  the 
barometer-dealer,  Guiseppc  Coppola,  is  not  the  advocate  Coppelius. 
I  attend  the  lectures  of  the  professor  of  physics,  who  has  lately  ar- 
rived. His  name  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  famous  natural  philo- 
sopher, Spalanzani,  and  he  is  of  Italian  origin.  He  has  known 
Coppola  for  years,  and  moreover  it  is  clear  from  his  accent  that  he 
is  really  a  Piedmontesc.  Coppelius  was  a  German,  but  I  think  no 
honest  one.  Calmed  I  am  not,  and  though  vou  and  Clara  may 
consider  me  a  gloomy  visionary,  I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  impression, 
which  the  accursed  face  of  Coppelius  makes  upon  me.  I  am  glad 
that  Coppola  has  left  the  town,  as  Spalanzani  says.  This  professor 
is  a  strange  fellow — a  little  round  man,  with  high  cheek  bones, 


<sor  I 

" 


THE  SANDMAN.  149 

sharp  nose,  pouting  lips,  and  little  piercing  eyes.  Yet  you  will  get 
a  better  notion  of  him  than  by  this  description,  if  you  look  at  the 
portrait  of  Cagliostro,  designed  by  Chodowiecki,  in  one  of  the  Berlin 
annuals,  Spalanzani  looks  like  that  exactly.  I  lately  went  up  stairs, 
and  perceived  that  the  curtain,  which  was  generally  drawn  com- 
pletely over  a  glass  door,  left  a  little  opening  on  one  side.  I  know 
not  what  curiosity  impelled  me  to  look  through,  a  tall  and  very 
slender  lady  most  symmetrically  formed,  and  most  splendidly  attired, 
sat  in  the  room  by  a  little  table  on  which  she  had  laid  her  arms,  her 
hands  being  folded  together.  She  sat  opposite  to  the  door,  so  that 
I  could  completely  see  her  angelic  countenance.  She  did  not  appear 
to  see  me,  and  indeed  there  was  something  fixed  about  her  eyes  as  if, 
I  might  almost  say,  she  had  no  power  of  sight.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  she  was  sleeping  with  her  eyes  open.  I  felt  very  uncomfortable, 
and  therefore  I  slunk  away  into  the  auditorium,  which  was  close  at 
hand.  Afterwards  I  learned  that  the  form  I  had  seen  was  that  of 
Spalanzanfs  daughter  Olympia,  whom  he  kept  confined  in  a  very 
strange  and  improper  manner,  so  that  no  one  could  approach  her. 
After  all,  there  may  be  something  the  matter  with  her;  she  is  silly 
perhaps,  or  something  of  the  kind.  But  why  should  I  write  you  all 
this?  I  could  have  conveyed  it  better  and  more  circumstantially  by 
word  of  mouth.  Know  that  I  shall  see  you  in  a  fortnight.  I  must 
again  behold  my  dear;  sweet,  angelic  Clara.  The  ill-humour  will 
then  be  dispersed,  which,  I  must  confess,  has  endeavoured  to  get 
the  mastery  over  me,  since  that  fatal,  sensible  letter.  Therefore  I 
do  not  write  to  her  to-day.  A  thousand  greetings,  &c. 


Nothing  more  strange  and  chimerical  can  be  imagined  than  that 
which  occurred  to  my  poor  friend,  the  young  student  Nathaniel, 
and  which  I,  gracious  reader,  have  undertaken  to  tell  you.  Have 
you,  kind  reader,  ever  known  a  something  that  has  completely  filled 
your  heart,  thoughts,  and  senses,  so  as  to  exclude  every  thing  else? 
There  was  in  you  a  fermentation  and  a  boiling,  and  your  blood  in- 
ilamcd  to  the  hottest  glow  bounded  through  your  veins,  and  gave  a 
higher  colour  to  your  cheeks.  Your  glance  was  so  strange,  as  if  you 
wished  to  perceive,  in  empty  space,  forms  which  to  no  other  eyes 
are  visible,  and  your,  speech  flowed  away  into  dark  sighs.  Then 
your  friends  asked  you:  "What  is  it,  revered  one?"  "  What  is 
the  matter,  dear  one."  And  now  you  wished  to  express  the  inter- 
nal picture  with  all  its  glowing  tints,  with  all  its  light  and  shade, 
and  laboured  hard  to  find  words  only  to  begin.  You  thought  that 
in  the  very  first  word  you  ought  to  crowd  together  all  the  wonderful, 
noble,  horrible,  comical,  frightful,  that  had  happened,  so  that  it 
might  strike  all  the  hearers  at  once  like  an  electric  shock.  But 
every  word,  every  thing  that  is  in  the  form  of  speech,  appeared  to 
you  colourless,  cold  and  dead.  You  hunt  and  hunt,  and  stutter 


150  THE  SANDMAN. 

and  stammer,  and  tlic  sober  questions  of  your  friends  dart  like  icy 
breezes  upon  your  internal  fire  until  it  is  ready  to  go  out;  whereas 
if,  like  a  bold  painter,  you  had  first  with  a  few  daring  strokes 
drawn  an  outline  of  the  internal  picture,  you  might  with  small 
trouble  have  laid  on  the  colours  brighter  and  brighter,  and  the 
living  throng  of  various  forms  would  have  carried  your  friends  along 
with  it,  and  they,  like  you,  would  have  seen  themselves  in  the  pic- 
ture that  had  proceeded  from  your  mind.  Now  I  must  confess  to 
you,  kind  reader,  that  no  one  has  really  asked  me  for  the  history 
of  the  young  Nathaniel,  but  you  know  well  enough  that  I  belong 
to  the  queer  race  of  authors,  who,  if  they  have  any  thing  in  their 
mind,  such  as  I  have  just  described,  feel  as  if  every  one  who  comes 
near  them,  and  indeed  perhaps  the  whole  world  besides,  is  asking 
them:  "What  is  it  then — tell  it,  my  dear  friend?"  Thus  was  I 
forcibly  compelled  to  tell  you  of  the  momentous  life  of  Nathaniel. 
The  singularity  and  marvellousness  of  the  story  filled  my  entire  soul, 
but  for  that  very  reason  and  because,  my  reader,  I  had  to  make  you 
equally  inclined  to  endure  oddity,  which  is  no  small  matter,  I 
tormented  myself  to  begin  the  history  of  Nathaniel  in  a  manner  as 
inspiring,  original  and  striking  as  possible.  "  Once  upon  a  time," 
the  beautiful  beginning  of  every  tale,  was  too  tame.  "  In  the  little 

provincial  town  of  S lived" — was  somewhat  better,  as  it  at  least 

prepared  for  the  climax.  Or  should  I  dart  at  once  medias  in  res, 
with  "  Go  to  the  devil,  cried  the  student  Nathaniel  with  rage  and 
horror  in  his  wild  looks,  when  the  barometer-seller,  Guiseppe  Cop- 
pola?"— I  had  indeed  already  written  this  down,  when  I  fancied  that 
in  the  wild  looks  of  the  student  Nathaniel,  I  could  detect  something 
ludicrous,  whereas  the  story  is  not  comical  at  all.  No  form  of  lan- 
guage suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  which  even  in  the  slightest 
degree  seemed  to  reflect  the  colouring  of  the  internal  picture.  I 
resolved  that  I  would  not  begin  it  at  all.  So  take,  gentle  reader,  the 
three  letters,  which  friend  Lothaire  was  good  enough  to  give  me,  as 
the  sketch  of  the  picture  which  I  shall  endeavour  to  colour  more  and 
more  as  I  proceed  in  my  narrative.  Perhaps,  like  a  good  portrait- 
painter,  I  may  succeed  in  catching  many  a  form  in  such  a  manner, 
that  you  will  find  it  is  a  likeness  without  having  the  original,  and 
feel  as  if  you  had  often  seen  the  person  with  your  own  corporeal 
eyes.  Perchance,  dear  reader,  you  will  then  believe  that  nothing 
is  stranger  and  madder  than  actual  life,  and  that  this  is  all  that  the 
poet  can  conceive,  as  it  were  in  the  dull  reflection  of  a  dimly  polished 
mirror. 

In  order  that  that  which  it  is  necessary  in  the  first  place  to  know, 
may  be  made  clearer,  we  must  add  to  these  letters  the  circumstance, 
that  shortly  after  the  death  of  Nathaniel's  father,  Clara  and  Lothaire, 
the  children  of  a  distant  relative,  who  had  likewise  died,  and  left 
them  orphans,  were  taken  by  Nathaniel's  mother  to  her  own  home. 
Clara  and  Nathaniel  formed  a  strong  attachment  for  each  other,  and 
no  one  in  the  world  having  any  objection  to  make,  they  were  be- 


THE  SANDMAN.  151 

trotlied,  when  Nathaniel  left  tlie  place  to  pursue  his  studies  in 

G .     He  is,  according  to  the  date  of  his  last  letter,  hearing  the 

lectures  of  the  celebrated  professor  of  physics,  Spalanzani. 

Now  I  could  proceed  in  my  story  with  confidence,  but  at  this 
moment  Clara's  image  stands  so  plainly  before  me,  that  I  cannot 
look  another  way,  as  indeed  was  always  the  case  when  she  gazed  at  me, 
with  one  of  her  lively  smiles.  Clara  could  not  by  any  means  be 
reckoned  beautiful ;  that  was  the  opinion  of  all  who  are  competent 
judges  of  beauty,  by  their  calling.  Nevertheless,  the  architects 
praised  the  exact  symmetry  of  her  frame,  and  the  painters  considered 
her  neck,  shoulders,  and  bosom  almost  too  chastely  formed,  but  then 
they  all  fell  in  love  with  her  wondrous  Magdalen-hair,  and  above 
every  thing  prated  about  battonisch  colouring.  One  of  them,  a 
most  fantastical  fellow,  singularly  compared  Clara's  eyes  to  a  lake 
by  Ruysdael,  in  which  the  pure  azure  of  a  cloudless  sky,  the  wood 
and  flowery  field,  the  whole  cheerful  life  of  the  rich  landscape  are 
reflected.  Poets  and  composers  went  still  further.  "  What  is  a 
lake — what  is  a  mirror!"  said  they,  "  can  we  look  upon  the  girl 
without  wondrous,  heavenly  songs  and  tunes  flashing  towards  us 
from  her  glances,  and  penetrating  our  inmost  soul,  so  that  all  there 
is  awakened  and  stirred.  If  even  then  we  sing  nothing  that  is  really 
sensible,  there  is  not  much  in  us,  and  that  we  can  feelingly  read  in 
the  delicate  smile  which  plays  on  Clara's  lips,  when  we  presume  to 
tinkle  something  before  her,  which  is  to  pass  for  a  song,  although  it 
is  only  a  confused  jumble  of  tones."  So  it  was.  Clara  had  the 
vivid  fancy  of  a  cheerful,  unembarrassed  child,  a  deep,  tender,  fe- 
minine disposition,  an  acute,  clever  understanding.  The  misty 
dreams  had  but  a  bad  chance  with  her,  since,  though  she  did  not 
talk, — as  indeed  talking  would  have  been  altogether  repugnant  to 
her  tacit  nature,  her  bright  glance  and  her  firm  ironical  smile  would 
say  to  them:  "  Good  friends,  how  canyon  imagine  that  I  shall  take 
your  fleeting  shadowy  images  for  real  forms  with  life  and  motion?" 
On  this  account  Clara  was  censured  by  many  as  cold,  unfeeling  and 
prosaic;  while  others,  who  conceived  life  in  its  clear  depth,  greatly 
loved  the  feeling,  acute,  childlike  girl,  but  none  so  much  as  Natha- 
niel, whose  perception  in  art  and  science  was  clear  and  strong. 
Clara  was  attached  to  her  lover  with  all  her  soul,  and  when  he 
parted  from  her,  the  first  cloud  passed  over  her  life.  With  what 
transport  did  she  rush  into  his  arms  when,  as  he  had  promised 
in  his  last  letter  to  Lothaire,  he  had  actually  returned  to  his  native 
town  and  entered  his  mother's  room.  Nathaniel's  expectations  were 
completely  fulfilled;  for  directly  he  saw  Clara  he  thought  neither 
of  the  Advocate  Coppelius,  nor  of  her  "  sensible"  letter.  All  gloomy 
forebodings  had  gone. 

However,  Nathaniel  was  quite  right,  when  he  wrote  to  his  friend 
Lothaire  that  the  form  of  the  repulsive  barometer-seller,  Coppola,  had 
had  a  most  hostile  effect  on  his  life.  All  felt,  even  in  the  first  days, 
that  Nathaniel  had  undergone  a  thorough  change  in  his  whole  tern- 


152  THE  SANDMAN. 

perament.  He  sank  into  a  gloomy  reverie ,  and  conducted  himself  in  a 
strange  manner,  that  had  never  been  known  in  him  before.  Every 
thing,  his  whole  life,  had  become  to  him  a  dream  and  a  foreboding, 
and  he  was  always  saying  that  every  man,  although  he  might  think 
himself  free,  only  served  for  the  cruel  sport  of  dark  powers.  These 
he  said  it  was  vain  to  resist,  and  man  must  patiently  resign  himself 
to  his  fate.  He  went  even  so  far  as  to  say,  that  it  is  foolish  to 
think  that  we  do  any  thing  in  art  and  science  according  to  our  own 
self-acting  will,  for  the  inspiration  which  alone  enables  us  to  produce 
any  thing,  does  not  proceed  from  within  ourselves,  but  is  the  effect 
of  a  higher  principle  without. 

To  the  clear-headed  Clara  this  mysticism  was  in  the  highest 
degree  repugnant,  but  contradiction  appeared  to  be  useless.  Only 
when  Nathaniel  proved  that  Coppelius  was  the  evil  principle,  which 
had  seized  him  at  the  moment  when  he  was  listening  behind  the 
curtain,  and  that  this  repugnant  principle  would  in  some  horrible 
manner  disturb  the  happiness  of  their  life,  Clara  grew  very  serious, 
and  said:  "  Yes,  Nathaniel,  you  are  right.  Coppelius  is  an  evil,  hos- 
tile principle;  he  can  produce  terrible  effects,  like  a  diabolical  power 
that  has  come  invisibly  into  life;  but  only  then,  when  you  will  not 
banish  him  from  your  mind  and  thoughts.  So  long  as  you  believe 
in  him  he  really  exists,  and  exerts  his  influence ;  only  your  belief  is 
his  power." 

Nathaniel,  quite  indignant  that  Clara  established  the  demon's 
existence  only  in  his  own  mind,  would  then  come  out  with  all  the 
mystical  doctrine  of  devils  and  fearful  powers.  But  Clara  would 
break  off  peevishly,  by  introducing  some  indifferent  matter,  to  the 
no  small  annoyance  of  Nathaniel.  He  thought  that  such  deep  secrets 
were  closed  to  cold,  unsusceptible  minds,  without  being  clearly 
aware  that  he  reckoned  Clara  among  these  subordinate  natures,  and 
therefore  he  constantly  endeavoured  to  initiate  her  into  the  mys- 
teries. In  the  morning,  when  Clara  was  getting  breakfast  ready,  he 
stood  by  her,  and  read  out  of  all  sorts  of  mystical  books,  till  she 
cried:  "  But,  dear  Nathaniel,  suppose  I  blame  you  as  the  evil  prin- 
ciple, that  has  a  hostile  effect  upon  my  coffee?  For  if  to  please 
you,  I  leave  every  thing  standing  still,  and  look  in  your  eyes,  while 
you  read,  my  coffee  will  run  into  the  fire,  and  none  of  you  will  get 
any  breakfast." 

Nathaniel  closed  the  book  at  once,  and  hurried  indignantly  to 
his  chamber.  Once  he  had  a  remarkable  forte  for  graceful,  lively 
tales,  which  he  wrote  down,  and  to  which  Clara  listened  with 
the  greatest  delight;  now,  his  creations  were  gloomy,  incompre- 
hensible, formless,  so  that  although  Clara,  out  of  compassion,  did 
not  say  so,  he  plainly  felt  how  little  she  was  interested.  Nothing 
was  more  insupportable  to  Clara  than  tediousncss;  in  her  looks  and 
in  her  words  a  mental  drowsiness,  not  to  be  conquered,  was  ex- 
pressed. Nathaniel's  productions  were,  indeed,  very  tedious.  His 
indignation  at  Clara's  cold,  prosaic  disposition,  constantly  increased, 


THE  SANDMAN.  153 

and  Clara  could  not  overcome  her  dislike  of  Nathaniel's  dark, 
gloomy,  tedious  mysticism,  so  that  they  became  more  and  more 
estranged  from  each  other  in  mind,  without  perceiving  it.  The 
form  of  the  ugly  Coppelius,  as  Nathaniel  himself  was  forced  to  con- 
fess, grew  more  dim  in  his  fancy,  and  it  often  cost  him  trouble  to 
colour  with  sufficient  liveliness  in  his  pictures,  when  he  appeared 
as  a  ghastly  bugbear  of  fate.  At  last  it  struck  him  that  he  would 
make  the  gloomy  foreboding,  that  Coppeliu^s  would  destroy  his  hap- 
piness in  love,  the  subject  of  a  poem.  He  represented  himself  and 
Clara  as  united  by  true  love ;  but  occasionally  it  seemed  as  though 
a  black  hand  darted  into  their  life,  and  tore  away  some  newly- 
springing  joy.  At  last,  while  they  were  standing  at  the  altar,  the 
hideous  Coppelius  appeared,  and  touched  Clara's  lively  eyes.  They 
flashed  into  Nathaniel's  heart,  like  bleeding  sparks,  scorching  and 
burning,  when  Coppelius  caught  him,  and  flung  him  into  a  flaming, 
fiery  circle,  which  flew  round  with  the  swiftness  of  the  stream,  and 
carried  him  along  with  it,  amid  its  roaring.  The  roar  is  like 
that  of  the  hurricane,  when  it  fiercely  lashes  the  foaming  waves, 
which,  like  black  giants  with  white  heads,  rise  up  for  the  furious 
combat.  But  through  the  wild  tumult  he  hears  Clara's  voice: 
"  Can  you  not,  then,  see  me?  Coppelius  has  deceived  you.  Those, 
indeed,  were  not  my  eyes,  which  so  burned  in  your  breast — they 
were  glowing  drops  of  your  own  heart's  blood.  I  have  my  eyes 
still— only  look  at  them!"  Nathaniel  reflects:  "That  is  Clara, 
and  I  am  hers  for  ever!"  Then  it  seems  to  him  as  though 
thought  forcibly  entered  the  fiery  circle,  which  stands  still,  while 
the  noise  dully  ceases  in  the  dark  abyss.  Nathaniel  looks  into 
Clara's  eyes,  but  it  is  only  death  that,  with  Clara's  eyes,  kindly 
looks  on  him. 

While  Nathaniel  composed  this  poem  he  was  very  calm  and  col- 
lected; he  polished  and  improved  every  line,  and  having  subjected 
himself  to  the  fetters  of  metre,  he  did  not  rest  till  all  was  correct  and 
melodious.  When  at  last  he  had  finished  and  read  the  poem  aloud 
to  himself,  a  wild  horror  seized  him,  and  he  cried  out:  "  Whose 
horrible  voice  is  that?"  Soon,  however,  the  whole  appeared  to  him 
a  very  successful  work,  and  he  felt  that  it  must  inflame  Clara's  cold 
temperament,  although  he  did  not  clearly  consider  for  what  Clara 
was  to  be  excited,  nor  what  purpose  it  would  answer  to  torment 
her  with  the  frightful  images  which  threatened  a  horrible  destiny, 
destructive  to  their  love.  Both  of  them — that  is  to  say  Nathaniel 
and  Clara — were  sitting  in  their  mother's  little  garden,  Clara  very 
cheerful,  because  Nathaniel,  during  the  three  days  in  which  he  had 
been  writing  his  poem,  had  not  teased  her  with  his  dreams  and  his 
forebodings.  Even  Nathaniel  spoke  livelily  and  joyfully  about  plea- 
sant matters,  as  he  used  to  do  formerly,  so  that  Clara  said:  "  Now 
for  the  first  time  I  have  you  acrain  !  Do  you  not  see  that  we  have 
driven  away  the  ugly  Coppelius  ?"  Then  it  first  struck  Nathaniel  that 
he  had  in  his  pocket  the  poem,  which  he  had  intended  to  read.  He 


154  THE  SANDMAN. 

at  once  drew  the  sheets  out  and  began,  while  Clara,  expecting 
something  tedious  as  usual,  resigned  herself  and  began  quietly  to 
knit.  But  as  the  dark  cloud  rose  ever  blacker  and  blacker,  she  let 
the  stocking  fall  and  looked  full  into  his  face.  He  was  carried  along 
unceasingly  by  his  poem,  an  internal  fire  deeply  reddened  his  cheeks, 
tears  flowed  from  his  eyes.  At  last  when  he  had  concluded,  he  groaned 
in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion,  and  catching  Clara's  hand,  sighed  forth, 
as  if  melted  into  the  most  inconsolable  grief:  "  Oh  Clara! — Clara  1" 
Clara  pressed  him  gently  to  her  bosom,  and  said  softly,  but  very  so- 
lemnly and  sincerely :  "  Nathaniel,  dearest  Nathaniel,  do  throw  that 
mad,  senseless,  insane  stuff  into  the  fire  1"  Upon  this  Nathaniel 
sprang  up  enraged,  and  thrusting  Clara  from  him,  cried:  "  Thou 
inanimate,  accursed  automaton !"  He  ran  off;  Clara,  deeply  offended, 
shed  bitter  tears,  and  sobbed  aloud:  "  Ah,  he  has  never  loved  me, 
for  he  does  not  understand  me."  Lothaire  entered  the  arbour;  Clara 
was  obliged  to  tell  him  all  that  had  occurred.  He  loved  his  sister 
with  all  his  soul,  and  every  word  of  her  complaint  fell  like  a  spark  of 
fire  into  his  heart,  so  that  the  indignation  which  he  had  long  har- 
boured against  the  visionary  Nathaniel,  now  broke  out  into  the  wildest 
rage.  He  ran  to  Nathaniel  and  reproached  him  for  his  senseless  con- 
duct towards  his  beloved  sister  in  hard  words,  which  the  infuriated 
Nathaniel  retorted  in  the  same  style.  The  appellation  of"  fantastical, 
mad  fool,"  was  answered  by  that  of"  miserable  common-place  fellow." 
A  duel  was  inevitable.  They  agreed  on  the  following  morning, 
according  to  the  academical  custom  of  the  place,  to  fight  with  sharp 
rapiers  behind  the  garden.  Silently  and  gloomily  they  slunk  about. 
Clara  had  overheard  the  violent  dispute,  and  seeing  the  fencing- 
master  bring  the  rapiers  at  dawn,  guessed  what  was  to  occur.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  place  of  combat,  Lothaire  and  Nathaniel  had  in 
gloomy  silence  flung  off  their  coats,  and  with  the  fierce  desire  of  fight- 
ing in  their  flaming  eyes,  were  about  to  fall  upon  one  another, 
when  Clara  rushed  through  the  garden  door.  Sobbing,  she  cried 
aloud,  "Ye  wild  cruel  men!  Strike  me  down  before  you  attack 
each  other,  for  how  shall  I  live  longer  in  the  world  if  my  lover  mur- 
ders my  brother,  or  my  brother  murders  my  lover.5'  Lothaire  lowered 
his  weapon,  and  looked  in  silence  on  the  ground ;  but  in  Nathaniel's 
heart,  amid  the  most  poignant  sorrow,  revived  all  the  love  for  the 
beautiful  Clara,  which  he  had  felt  in  the  best  days  of  his  happy 
youth.  The  weapon  fell  from  his  hand,  he  threw  himself  at  Clara's 
feet.  "  Can  you  ever  forgive  me,  my  only — my  beloved  Clara?  Can 
you  forgive  me,  my  dear  brother,  Lothaire?" 

Lothaire  was  touched  by  the  deep  contrition  of  his  friend;  all 
three  embraced  in  reconciliation  amid  a  thousand  tears,  and  vowed 
eternal  love  and  fidelity. 

Nathaniel  felt  as  though  a  heavy  burden,  which  pressed  him  to 
the  ground,  had  been  rolled  away,  as  though  by  resisting  the  dark 
power,  which  held  him  fast,  he  had  saved  his  whole  being,  which 
had  been  threatened  with  annihilation.  Three  happy  days  he  passed 


THE  SANDMAN.  155 

with  his  dear  friends,  and  then  went  to  G ,  where  he  intended 

to  stay  a  year,  and  then  to  return  to  his  native  town  for  ever. 

All  that  referred  to  Coppclius  was  kept  a  secret  from  the  mother, 
for  it  was  well  known  that  she  could  not  think  of  him  without 
terror,  as  she,  as  well  as  Nathaniel,  accused  him  of  causing  her  hus- 
band's death. 


How  surprised  was  Nathaniel,  when  proceeding  to  his  lodging,  he 
saw  that  the  whole  house  was  burned  down,  and  that  only  the  bare 
walls  stood  up  amid  the  ashes.  However,  notwithstanding  the  fire 
had  broken  out  in  the  laboratory  of  the  apothecary  who  lived  on  the 
ground-floor,  and  had  therefore  consumed  the  house  from  bottom 
to  top,  some  bold  active  friends  had  succeeded  in  entering  Na- 
thaniel's room  in  the  upper  story,  in  time  to  save  the  books,  manu- 
scripts, and  instruments.  They  carried  all  safe  and  sound  into  an- 
other house,  where  they  took  a  room,  which  Nathaniel  entered  at 
once.  He  did  not  think  it  at  all  remarkable  that  he  lodged  opposite 
to  Professor  Spalanzani ;  neither  did  it  appear  singular  when  he  per- 
ceived that  his  window  looked  straight  into  the  room  where  Olym- 
pia  often  sat  alone,  so  that  he  could  plainly  recognise  her  figure,  al- 
though the  features  of  her  face  were  indistinct  and  confused.  At 
last  it  struck  him,  that  Olympia  often  remained  for  hours  in  this  at- 
titude, in  which  he  had  once  seen  her  through  the  glass-door,  sitting 
at  a  little  table  without  any  occupation,  and  that  she  plainly  enough 
looked  over  at  him  with  an  unvarying  glance.  He  was  forced  to 
confess  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  lovely  form,  but  with  Clara  in 
his  heart,  the  stiff  Olympia  was  perfectly  indifferent  to  him.  Oc- 
casionally, to  be  sure,  he  gave  a  transient  look  over  his  compendium, 
at  the  beautiful  statue,  but  that  was  all.  He  was  just  writing  to 
Clara,  when  he  heard  a  light  tap  at  the  door ;  it  paused  at  his  words, 
and  the  repulsive  face  of  Coppola  peeped  in.  Nathaniel's  heart 
trembled  within  him,  but  remembering  what  Spalanzani  had  told 
him  about  the  countryman,  Coppola,  and  also  the  sacred  promises 
he  had  made  to  Clara  with  respect  to  the  Sandman  Coppelius,  he 
felt  ashamed  of  his  childish  fear,  and  collecting  himself  with  all  his 
might,  said  as  softly  and  civily  as  possible:  "  I  do  not  want  a 
barometer,  my  good  friend;  pray,  go."  Upon  this,  Coppola  ad- 
vanced a  good  way  into  the  room,  and  said  in  a  hoarse  voice,  while 
his  wide  mouth  distorted  itself  into  a  hideous  laugh,  and  his  little 
eyes  under  their  long  gray  lashes  sparkled  forth  piercingly:  "  Eh, 
ch — 110  barometer — no  barometer?  I  have  besides  pretty  eyes — • 
pretty  eyes  !" — "  Madman!"  cried  Nathaniel  with  horror,  "  how  can 
you  have  eyes? — Eyes?'  But  Coppola  had  already  put  his  baro- 
meter aside,  and  plunged  his  hand  into  his  wide  coat-pocket,  whence 
he  drew  lunettes  and  spectacles,  which  he  placed  upon  the  table 
"  There — there — spectacles  on  the  nose,  those  are  my  eyes — pretty 
eyes  1"  And  so  saying  he  drew  out  more  and  more  spectacles  so, 


156  THE  SANDMAN. 

that  tlic  whole  table  began  to  glisten  and  sparkle  in  the  most  extra- 
ordinary manner.  A  thousand  eyes  glanced,  and  quivered  convul- 
sively, and  stared  at  Nathaniel ;  yet  he  could  not  look  away  from 
the  table,  and  Coppola  kept  still  laying  down  more  and  more  spec- 
tacles, while  naming  glances  were  intermingled  more  and  more 
wildly,  and  shot  their  blood-red  rays  into  Nathaniel's  breast.  Over- 
come with  horror,  he  shrieked  out:  "  Hold,  hold,  frightful  man!" 
He  seized  fast  by  the  arm  Coppola,  who  was  searching  his  pockets 
to  bring  out  still  more  spectacles,  although  the  whole  table  was 
already  covered.  Coppola  had  greatly  extricated  himself  with  a 
hoarse  repulsive  laugh,  and  with  the  words:  "  Ah,  nothing  for  you 
— but  here  are  pretty  glasses;"  he  had  collected  all  the  spectacles, 
put  them  up,  and  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  had  drawn 
forth  a  number  of  telescopes  large  and  small.  As  soon  as  the  spec- 
tacles were  removed  Nathaniel  felt  quite  easy,  and  thinking  of  Clara, 
perceived  that  the  hideous  phantom  was  but  the  creature  of  his  own 
mind,  and  that  Coppola  was  an  honest  optician,  and  could  by  no 
means  be  the  accursed  double  of  Coppelius.  Moreover,  in  all  the 
glasses  which  Coppola  now  placed  on  the  table,  there  was  nothing 
remarkable,  or  at  least  nothing  so  ghost-like  as  the  spectacles,  and  to 
make  matters  right  Nathaniel  resolved  to  buy  something  of  Coppola. 
He  took  up  a  little  and  very  neatly  worked  pocket-telescope,  and 
looked  through  the  window  to  try  it.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  met 
a  glass  which  brought  the  objects  so  sharply,  plainly,  and  clearly 
before  his  eyes.  Involuntarily  he  looked  into  Spalanzani's  room; 
Olympia  was  sitting  as  usual  before  the  little  table,  with  her  arms 
laid  upon  it,  and  her  hands  folded.  For  the  first  time  could 
he  see  the  wondrous  beauty  in  the  form  of  her  face; — only  the 
eyes  seemed  to  him  singularly  stiff  and  dead.  Nevertheless,  as  he 
looked  more  sharply  through  the  glass,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  moist 
morn-beams  were  rising  in  the  eyes  of  Olympia.  It  was  as  if  the 
power  of  seeing  was  kindled  for  the  first  time ;  the  glances  flashed 
with  constantly  increasing  liveliness.  As  if  spell-bound,  Nathaniel 
reclined  against  the  window,  meditating  on  the  charming  Olympia. 
A  hemming  and  scraping  aroused  him  as  if  from  a  dream.  Cop- 
pola was  standing  behind  him:  "  Tre  zeccluni — three  ducats!" 
Nathaniel,  who  had  quite  forgotten  the  optician,  quickly  paid  him 
what  he  asked.  "  Is  it  not  so?  A  pretty  glass — a  pretty  glass  ?" 
asked  Coppola,  in  his  hoarse,  repulsive  voice,  and  with  his  ma- 
licious smile.  "Yes — yes,"  replied  Nathaniel,  peevishly;  "good 
bye,  friend."  Coppola  left  the  room,  not  without  casting  many 
strange  glances  at  Nathaniel.  He  heard  him  laugh  loudly  on  the 
stairs.  "  Ah,"  thought  Nathaniel,  "he  is  laughing  at  me  because 
no  doubt,  I  have  paid  him  too  much  for  this  little  glass."  While  he 
softly  uttered  these  words,  it  seemed  as  if  a  deep  deadly  sigh  was 
sounding  fearfully  through  the  room,  and  his  breath  was  stopped  by 
inward  anguish.  He  perceived,  however,  that  it  was  himself  that 
had  sighed.  "  Clara,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  is  right  in  taking  me  for 


THE  SANDMAN.  157 

a  senseless  dreamer,  but  it  is  pure  madness — nay,  mote  than  mad- 
ness, that  the  stupid  thought,  that  I  have  paid  Coppola  too  much 
for  the  glass,  pains  me  even  so  strangely.  I  cannot  see  the  cause."" 
He  now  sat  down  to  finish  his  letter  to  Clara ;  but  a  glance  through 
the  window  convinced  him  that  Olympia  was  still  sitting  there,  and 
he  instantly  sprang  out,  as  if  impelled  by  an  irresistible  power, 
seized  Coppola's  glass,  and  could  not  tear  himself  from  the  seduc- 
tive view  of  Olympia,  till  his  friend  and  brother  Sigismund, 
called  him  to  go  to  Professor  Spalanzani's  lecture.  The  curtain 
was  drawn  close  before  the  fatal  room,  and  he  could  neither  per- 
ceive Olympia  now  nor  during  the  two  following  days5  although  he 
scarcely  ever  left  the  window,  and  constantly  looked  through  Cop- 
pola's glass.  On  the  third  day  the  windows  were  completely  co- 
vered. Quite  in  despair,  and  impelled  by  a  burning  wish,  he  ran. 
out  of  the  town-gate.  Olympia's  form  floated  before  him  in  the 
air,  stepped  forth  from  the  bushes,  and  peeped  at  him  with  large 
beaming  eyes  from  the  clear  brook.  Clara's  image  had  completely 
vanished  from  his  mind;  he  thought  of  nothing  but  Olympia,  and 
complained  aloud  and  in  a  murmuring  tone:  "  Ah,  thou  noble, 
sublime  star  of  my  love,  hast  thou  only  risen  upon  me,  to  vanish 
immediately,  and  leave  me  in  dark  hopeless  night?" 

When  he  was  retiring  to  his  lodging,  he  perceived  that  there  was 
a  great  bustle  in  Spalanzani's  house.  The  doors  were  wide  open,  all 
sorts  of  utensils  were  being  carried  in,  the  windows  of  the  first  floor 
were  being  taken  out,  maid  servants  were  going  about  sweeping  and 
dusting  with  great  hair-brooms,  and  carpenters  and  upholsterers  were 
knocking  and  hammering  within.  Nathaniel  remained  standing  in  the 
street  in  a  state  of  perfect  wonder,  when  Sigismund  came  up  to  him,, 
laughing,  and  said:  '''Now,  what  do  you  say  to  our  old  Spalanzani?"' 
Nathaniel  assured  him  that  he  could  say  nothing  because  he  knew 
nothing  about  the  professor,  but  on  the  contrary  perceived  with  as- 
tonishment the  mad  proceedings  in  a  house  otherwise  so  quiet  and 
gloomy.  Pie  then  learnt  from  Sigismund  that  Spalanzani  intended 
to  give  a  grand  festival  on  the  following  day, — a  concert  and  ball — 
and  that  half  the  university  was  invited.  It  was  generally  reported 
that  Spalanzani,  who  had  so  long  kept  his  daughter  most  painfully 
from  every  human  eye,  would  now  let  her  appear  for  the  first  time. 

Nathaniel  found  a  card  of  invitation,  and  with  heart  beating  highly 
went  at  the  appointed  hour  to  the  professor's,  where  the  coaches  were; 
already  rolling,  and  the  lights  were  shining  in  the  decorated  saloons . 
The  company  was  numerous  and  brilliant.  Olympia  appeared  dressed 
with  great  richness  and  taste.  Her  beautifully  turned  face,  her  figure 
called  for  admiration.  The  somewhat  strange  bend  of  her  back 
inwards,  the  wasp-like  thinness  of  her  waist,  seemed  to  be  produced 
by  too  tight  lacing.  In  her  step  and  deportment  there  was  some- 
thing measured  and  stiff,  which  struck  many  as  unpleasant,  but  it 
was  ascribed  to  the  constraint  produced  by  the  company.  The 
concert  began,  Olympia  played  the  piano  with  great  dexterity,  and 


158  THE  SANDMAN. 

executed  a  bravura,  with  a  voice,  like  the  sound  of  a  glass  bell,  clear, 
and  almost  cutting.  Nathaniel  was  quite  enraptured  ;  he  stood  in  the 
hindermost  row,  and  could  not  perfectly  recognise  Olympia's  features 
in  the  dazzling  light.  He,  therefore,  quite  unperceived,  took  out  Cop- 
pola's glass,  and  looked  towards  the  fair  Olyrnpia.  Ah !  then  he  saw, 
with  what  a  longing  glance  she  looked  towards  him,  how  every  tone 
first  resolved  itself  plainly  in  the  glance  of  love,  which  penetrated, 
in  its  glowing  career,  his  inmost  soul.  The  artistical  roulades  seemed 
to  Nathaniel  the  exultation  of  a  mind  illuminated  with  love,  and 
when,  at  last,  after  the  cadence,  the  long  trill  sounded  shrilly  through 
the  saloon,  he  felt  as  if  grasped  by  glowing  arms;  he  could  no 
longer  restrain  himself,  but  with  mingled  pain  and  rapture  shouted 
out,  "  Olympia !"  All  looked  at  him,  and  many  laughed.  The 
organist  of  the  cathedral  made  a  more  gloomy  face  than  usual,  and 
simply  said:  "  Well,  well."  The  concert  had  finished,  the  ball 
began.  " To  dance  with  her — with  her!"  That  was  the  aim  of 
all  Nathaniel's  wishes,  of  all  his  efforts ;  but  how  to  gain  courage  to 
ask  her,  the  queen  of  the  festival?  Nevertheless — he  himself  did 
not  know  how  it  happened — no  sooner  had  the  dancing  begun,  than 
he  was  standing  close  to  Olympia,  who  had  not  yet  been  asked  to 
dance,  and,  scarcely  able  to  stammer  out  a  few  words,  had  seized 
her  hand.  The  hand  of  Olympia  was  as  cold  as  ice ;  he  felt  a  hor- 
rible deadly  frost  thrilling  through  him.  He  looked  into  her  eye — 
that  was  beaming  full  of  love  and  desire,  and  at  the  same  time  it 
seemed  as  though  the  pulse  began  to  beat,  and  the  stream  of  life  to 
glow  in  the  cold  hand.  And  in  the  soul  of  Nathaniel  the  joy  of 
love  rose  still  higher;  he  clasped  the  beautiful  Olympia,  and  with 
her  flew  through  the  dance.  He  thought  that  his  dancing  was 
usually  correct  as  to  time,  but  the  peculiar  rhythmical  steadiness  with 
which  Olympia  moved,  and  which  often  put  him  completely  out, 
soon  showed  him,  that  his  time  was  very  defective.  However,  he 
would  dance  with  no  other  lady,  and  would  have  liked  to  murder 
any  one  who  approached  Olympia  for  the  purpose  of  asking  her. 
But  this  only  happened  twice,  and  to  his  astonishment  Olympia  re- 
mained seated  after  every  dance,  when  he  lost  no  time  in  making 
her  rise  again.  Had  he  been  able  to  see  any  other  object  besides 
the  fair  Olympia,  all  sorts  of  unfortunate  quarrels  would  have  been 
inevitable,  for  the  half-soft,  scarcely-suppressed  laughter,  which  arose 
among  the  young  people  in  every  corner,  was  manifestly  directed 
to  Olympia,  whom  they  pursued  with  very  curious  glances — one 
could  not  tell  why.  Heated  by  the  dance,  and  by  the  wine,  of 
which  he  had  freely  partaken,  Nathaniel  had  laid  aside  all  his  ordi- 
nary reserve.  He  sat  by  Olympia,  with  her  hand  in  his,  and, 
highly  inflamed  and  inspired,  told  his  passion,  in  words  which  no  one 
understood — neither  himself  nor  Olympia.  Yet,  perhaps,  she  did; 
for  she  looked  immovcably  in  his  face,  and  sighed  several  times, 
"  Ah,  ah  !"  Upon  this,  Nathaniel  said,  "  Oh,  thou  splendid,  hea- 
venly lady !  Thou  ray  from  the  promised  land  of  love — thou  deep 


THE  SANDMAtf.  159 

soul,  in  winch  all  my  being  is  reflected !"  witli  much  more  stuff  of 
the  like  kind;  but  Olympia  merely  went  on  sighing,  "  Ah — ah!" 
Professor  Spalanzani  occasionally  passed  the  happy  pair,  and  smiled 
on  them,  with  a  look  of  singular  satisfaction.  To  Nathaniel,  although 
he  felt  in  quite  another  region,  it  seemed  all  at  once  as  though 
Professor  Spalanzani  was  gowing  considerably  darker;  he  looked 
around,  and,  to  his  no  small  horror,  perceived  that  the  two  last 
candles  in  the  empty  saloon  had  burned  down  to  their  sockets,  and 
were  just  going  out.  Music  and  dancing  had  ceased  long  ago. 
"  Separation — separation !"  he  cried,  wildly,  and  in  despair;  he  kissed 
Olympia's  hand,  he  bent  towards  her  mouth,  when  his  glowing  lips 
were  met  by  lips  cold  as  ice !  Just  as  when  he  touched  Olympia's 
cold  hand,  he  felt  himself  overcome  by  horror;  the  legend  of  the 
dead  bride  darted  suddenly  through  his  mind,  but  Olympia  pressed 
him  fast,  and  her  lips  seemed  to  recover  to  life  at  his  kiss.  Professor 
Spalanzani  strode  through  the  empty  hall,  his  steps  caused  a  hollow 
echo,  and  his  figure,  round  which  a  flickering  shadow  played,  had  a 
fearful,  spectral  appearance.  "  Dost  thou  love  me,  dost  thou  love 
me,  Olympia?  Only  this  word ! — Dost  thou  love  me?"  So  whis- 
pered Nathaniel;  but  Olympia,  as  she  rose,  only  sighed,  "  Ah — ah !" 
"  Yes,  my  gracious,  my  beautiful  star  of  love,"  said  Nathaniel, 
"  thou  hast  risen  upon  me,  and  thou  wilt  shine,  ever  illuminating 
my  inmost  soul."  "  Ah — ah !"  replied  Olympia,  going.  Nathaniel 
followed  her ;  they  both  stood  before  the  professor. 

"  You  have  had  a  very  animated  conversation  with  my  daughter," 
said  he,  smiling;  "  so,  dear  Herr  Nathaniel,  if  you  have  any  taste 
for  talking  with  a  silly  girl,  your  visits  shall  be  welcome." 

Nathaniel  departed,  with  a  whole  heaven  beaming  in  his  bosom. 
The  next  day  Spalanzani's  festival  was  the  subject  of  conversation. 
Notwithstanding  the  professor  had  done  every  thing  to  appeal- 
splendid,  the  wags  had  all  sorts  of  incongruities  and  oddities  to 
talk  about,  and  were  particularly  hard  upon  the  dumb,  stiff  Olym- 
pia, to  whom,  in  spite  of  her  beautiful  exterior,  they  ascribed 
absolute  stupidity,  and  were  pleased  to  find  therein  the  cause  why 
Spalanzani  kept  her  so  long  concealed.  Nathaniel  did  not  hear  this 
without  increased  rage;  but,  nevertheless,  he  held  his  peace,  for, 
thought  he,  "Is  it  worth  while  to  convince  these  fellows  that  it  is 
their  own  stupidity  that  prevents  them  from  recognising  Olympia's 
deep,  noble  mind?" 

One  day  Sigismund  said  to  him:  "  Be  kind  enough,  brother,  to 
tell  me  how  it  was  possible  for  a  sensible  fellow  like  you  to  fall  in 
love  with  that  wax  face,  that  wooden  doll  up  there?" 

Nathaniel  was  about  to  fly  out  in  a  passion,  but  he  quickly  recol- 
lected himself,  and  retorted:  "  Tell  me,  Sigismund,  how  it  is  that 
Olympia's  heavenly  charms  could  escape  your  glance,  which  generally 
perceives  every  thing  so  clearly — your  active  senses?  But,  for  that 
very  reason,  Heaven  be  thanked,  I  have  not  you  for  my  rival; 
otherwise,  one  of  us  must  have  fallen  a  bleeding  corpse !" 


160  THE  SANDMAN. 

Sigisrmmd  plainly  perceived  his  friend's  condition,  so  lie  skilfully 
gave  the  conversation  a  turn,  and  added,  after  observing  that  in  love- 
affairs  there  was  no  disputing  about  the  object :  "  Nevertheless  it  is 
strange,  that  many  of  us  think  much  the  same  about  Olympia.  To 
us — pray  do  not  take  it  ill,  brother, — she  appears  singularly  stiff  and 
soulless.  Her  shape  is  symmetrical — so  is  her  face — that  is  true ! 
She  might  pass  for  beautiful,  if  her  glance  were  not  so  utterly  with- 
out a  ray  of  life — without  the  power  of  seeing.  Her  pace  is  strangely 
measured,  every  movement  seems  to  depend  on  some  wound-up 
clockwork.  Her  playing — her  singing  has  the  unpleasantly  correct 
and  spiritless  measure  of  a  singing  machine,  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  her  dancing.  To  us,  this  Olympia  has  been  quite  unplea- 
sant ;  we  wished  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  ;  it  seems  as  if  she 
acts  like  a  living  being,  and  yet  has  some  strange  peculiarity  of  her 
own."  Nathaniel  did  not  com 


completely  yield  to  the  bitter  feeling, 
which  was  coming  over  him  at  these  words  of  Sigismund ;  he  mas- 
tered his  indignation,  and  merely  said,  with  great  earnestness, 
"  Well  may  Olympia  appear  awful  to  you,  cold  prosaic  man.  Only 
to  the  poetical  mind  does  the  similarly  organised  develop  itself. 
To  me  alone  was  her  glance  of  love  revealed,  beaming  through 
mind  and  thought;  only  in  the  love  of  Olympia  do  I  find  myself 
again.  It  may  not  suit  you,  that  she  does  not  indulge  in  idle  chit- 
chat like  other  shallow  minds.  She  utters  few  words,  it  is  true, 
but  these  few  words  appear  as  genuine  hieroglyphics  of  the  inner 
world,  full  of  love  and  deep  knowledge  of  the  spiritual  life  in  con- 
templation of  the  eternal  yonder.  But  you  have  no  sense  for  all  this, 
and  my  words  are  wasted  on  you."  "  God  preserve  you,  brother," 
said  Sigismund  very  mildly,  almost  sorrowfully;  "  but  it  seems  to  me, 
that  you  are  in  an  evil  way.  Yoii  may  depend  upon  me,  if  all — 
no,  no,  I  will  not  say  any  thing  further."  All  of  a  sudden  it  seemed 
(to  Nathaniel  as  if  the  cold  prosaic  Sigismund  meant  very  well  to- 
wards him,  and,  therefore,  he  shook  the  proffered  hand  very  heartily. 
Nathaniel  had  totally  forgotten,  that  there  was  in  the  world  a 
Ckra,  whom  he  had  once  loved; — his  mother — Lothaire — all  had 
vanished  from  his  memory;  he  lived  only  for  Olympia,  with  whom 
he  sat  for  hours  every  day,  uttering  strange  fantastical  stuff  about 
his  love,  about  the  sympathy  that  glowed  to  life,  about  the  affinity  of 
souls,  to  all  of  which  Olympia  listened  with  great  devotion.  From 
the  very  bottom  of  his  desk,  he  drew  out  all  that  he  had  ever  writ- 
ten. Poems,  fantasies,  visions,  romances,  tales — this  stock  was 
daily  increased  with  all  sorts  of  extravagant  sonnets,  stanzas,  und 
canzone,  and  he  read  all  to  Olympia  for  hours  in  succession  without 
fatigue.  Never  had  he  known  such  an  admirable  listener.  She 
neither  embroidered  nor  knitted,  she  never  looked  out  of  window,  she 
fed  no  favourite  bird,  she  played  neither  with  lap-dog  nor  pet  cat,  she 
did  not  twist  a  slip  of  paper  nor  any  thing  else  in  her  hand,  she  was 
not  obliged  to  suppress  a  yawn  by  a  gentle  forced  cough.  In  short, 
she  sat  for  hours,  looking  straight  into  her  lover's  eyes,  without 


THE  SANDMAN.  161 

stirring,  and  her  glance  became  more  and  more  lively  and  animated. 
Only  when  Nathaniel  rose  at  last,  and  kissed  her  hand  and  also  her 
lips,  she  said  "  Ah,  ah !"  adding  "  good  night,  dearest !"  "  Oh  deep, 
noble  mind !"  cried  Nathaniel  in  his  own  room,  "  by  thee,  by  thee, 
dear  one,  am  I  fully  comprehended."  He  trembled  with  inward 
transport,  when  he  considered  the  wonderful  accordance  that  was 
revealed  more  and  more  every  day  in  his  own  mind,  and  that  of 
Olympia,  for  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  Olympia  had  spoken  con- 
cerning him  and  his  poetical  talent  out  of  the  depths  of  his  own 
mind; — as  if  the  voice  had  actually  sounded  from  within  himself.  That 
must  indeed  have  been  the  case,  for  Olympia  never  uttered  any  words 
whatever  beyond  those  which  have  been  already  mentioned.  Even 
when  Nathaniel,  in  clear  and  sober  moments,  as  for  instance,  when 
he  had  just  woke  in  the  morning,  remembered  Olympia's  utter  pas- 
sivity, and  her  paucity  and  scarcity  of  words,  he  said:  "Words, 
words !  The  glance  of  her  heavenly  eye  speaks  more  than  any  lan- 
guage here  below.  Can  a  child  of  heaven  adapt  herself  to  the 
narrow  circle  which  a  miserable  earthly  necessity  has  drawn?" 
Professor  Spalanzani  appeared  highly  delighted  at  the  intimacy  of 
his  daughter  with  Nathaniel.  To  the  latter  he  gave  the  most  une- 
quivocal signs  of  approbation,  and  when  Nathaniel  ventured  at  last 
to  hint  at  an  union  with  Olympia,  he  smiled  with  his  white  face, 
and  thought  "  he  would  leave  his  daughter  a  free  choice  in  the 
matter."  Encouraged  by  these  words,  and  with  burning  passion  in 
his  heart,  Nathaniel  resolved  to  implore  Olympia  on  the  very  next 
day,  that  she  would  say  directly  ,  in  plain  words,  that  which  her 
kind  glance  had  told  him  long  ago ;  namely,  that  she  loved  him. 
He  sought  the  ring  which  his  mother  had  given  him  at  parting,  that 
he  might  give  it  to  Olympia  as  a  symbol  of  his  devotion,  of  his 
life  which  budded  forth  and  bloomed  with  her  alone.  Clara's 
letters  and  Lothaire's  came  into  his  hands  during  the  search;  but 
he  flung  them  aside  indifferently,  found  the  ring,  put  it  up  and 
hastened  over  to  Olympia.  Already  on  the  steps,  in  the  hall  he 
heard  a  strange  noise,  which  seemed  to  proceed  from  Spalanzani's 
room.  There  was  a  stamping,  a  clattering,  a  pushing,  a  hurling 
against  the  door,  intermingled  with  curses  and  imprecations.  "  Let 
go,  let  go,  rascal ! — scoundrel !  Body  and  soul  ventured  in  it  ? 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  that  I  never  will  consent  to — I,  I  made  the  eyes,  I  the 
clockwork— stupid  blockhead  with  your  clockwork — accursed  dog 
of  a  bungling  watch-maker — off  with  you — Satan — stop,  pipe-maker 
— infernal  beast — hold — begone — let  go  !"  These  words  were  ut- 
tered by  the  voices  of  Spalanzani,  and  the  hideous  Coppelius,  who 
was  thus  raging  and  clamoring.  Nathaniel  rushed  in,  overcome  by 
the  most  inexpressible  anguish.  The  professor  held  a  female  figure 
fast  by  the  shoulders,  the  Italian  Coppola  grasped  it  by  the  feet, 
and  thus  they  were  tugging  and  pulling,  this  way  and  that,  con- 
tending for  the  possession  of  it,  with  the  unmost  fury.  Natha- 
niel started  back  with  horror,  when  in  the  figure  he  recognised 

M 


162  THE  SANDMAN. 

Olympia.  Boiling  with  the  wildest  indignation,  lie  was  about  to 
rescue  his  beloved  from  these  infuriated  men,  but  at  that  moment, 
Coppola,  turning  himself  with  the  force  of  a  giant,  wrenched 
the  figure  from  the  professor's  hand,  and  then  with  the  figure 
itself  gave  him  a  tremendous  blow,  which  made  him  reel  and  fall 
backwards  over  the  table,  where  vials,  retorts,  bottles,  and  glass 
cylinders  were  standing.  All  these  were  dashed  to  a  thousand 
shivers.  Now  Coppola  flung  the  figure  across  his  shoulders,  and, 
with  frightful,  yelling  laughter,  dashed  down  the  stairs,  so  that  the 
feet  of  the  figure,  which  dangled  in  the  ugliest  manner,  rattled  with 
a  wooden  sound  on  every  step.  Nathaniel  stood  paralysed ;  he  had 
seen  but  too  plainly  that  Olympia's  waxen,  deadly  pale  counte- 
nance had  no  eyes,  but  black  holes  instead — she  was,  indeed,  a  life- 
less doll.  Spalanzani  was  writhing  on  the  floor;  the  pieces  of  glass 
had  cut  his  head,  heart,  and  arms,  and  the  blood  was  spirting  up,  as 
from  so  many  fountains.  But  he  soon  collected  all  his  strength. 
"  After  him — after  him — why  do  you  pause?  Coppelius,  Coppe- 
lius,  has  robbed  me  of  my  best  automaton — a  work  of  twenty  years 
— body  and  soul  set  upon  it — the  clock-work — the  speech — the 
walk,  mine;  the  eyes  stolen  from  you.  The  infernal  rascal — after 
him ;  fetch  Olympia — there  you  have  the  eyes !" 

And  now  Nathaniel  saw  how  a  pair  of  eyes,  which  lay  upon  the 
ground,  were  staring  at  him ;  these  Spalanzani  caught  up,  with  the 
un wounded  hand,  and  flung  against  his  heart.  At  this,  madness 
seized  him  with  its  burning  claws,  and  clutched  into  his  soul,  tear- 
ing to  pieces  all  his  thoughts  and  senses.  "  Ho — ho — ho — a  circle 
of  fire  1  of  fire  ! — turn  thyself  round,  circle  !  merrily,  merrily,  ho, 
thou  wooden  doll — turn  thyself,  pretty  doll !"  With  these  words 
he  flew  at  the  professor  and  pressed  in  his  throat.  He  would  have 
strangled  him,  had  not  the  noise  attracted  many  people,  who  rushed 
in,  forced  open  Nathaniel's  grasp,  and  thus  saved  the  professor, 
whose  wounds  were  bound  immediately.  Sigismund,  strong  as  he 
was,  was  not  able  to  master  the  mad  Nathaniel,  who  with  frightful 
voice  kept  crying  out:  "Turn  thyself,  wooden  doll!"  and  struck 
around  him  with  clenched  fists.  At  last  the  combined  force  of  many 
succeeded  in  overcoming  him,  in  flinging  him  to  the  ground,  and 
binding  him.  His  words  were  merged  into  a  hideous  roar,  like  that 
of  a  brute,  and  raging  in  this  insane  condition  he  was  taken  to  the 
mad-house. 

Before,  gentle  reader,  I  proceed  to  tell  thec  what  more  bcfel  the 
unfortunate  Nathaniel,  I  can  tell  tlicc,  in  case  thou  takcst  an  interest 
in  the  skilful  optician  and  automaton-maker,  Spalanzani,  that  he  was 
completely  healed  of  his  wounds.  He  was,  however,  obliged  to  leave 
the  university,  because  Nathaniel's  story  had  created  a  sensation,  and 
it  was  universally  deemed  an  unpardonable  imposition  to  smuggle 
wooden  dolls  instead  of  living  persons  into  respectable  tea-parties — 
for  such  Olympia  had  visited  with  success.  The  lawyers  called  it 
a  most  subtle  deception,  and  the  more  culpable,  inasmuch  as  he  had 


THE  SANDMAN.  163 

planned  it  so  artfully  against  the  public,  that  not  a  single  soul — a 
few  cunning  students  excepted — had  detected  it,  although  all  now 
wished  to  play  the  acute,  and  referred  to  various  facts,  which  ap- 
peared to  them  suspicious.  Nothing  very  clever  was  revealed  in 
this  way.  For  instance,  could  it  strike  any  one  as  so  very  suspicious, 
that  Olympia,  according  to  the  expression  of  an  elegant  tea-ite,  had, 
contrary  to  all  usage,  sneezed  oftener  than  she  had  yawned?  "  The 
former"  remarked  this  elegant  person,  "  was  the  self-winding-up  of 
the  concealed  clockwork,  which  had,  moreover,  creaked  audibly" — 
and  so  on.  The  professor  of  poetry  and  eloquence  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  clapped  first  the  lid  of  his  box,  cleared  his  throat,  and  said, 
solemnly,  "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  do  you  not  perceive  how  the 
whole  affair  lies?  It  is  all  an  allegory — a  continued  metaphor — you 
understand  me — Sapienti  sat"  But  many  were  not  satisfied  with 
this;  the  story  of  the  automaton  had  struck  deep  root  into  their 
souls,  and,  in  fact,  an  abominable  mistrust  against  human  figures  in 
general,  began  to  creep  in.  Many  lovers,  to  be  quite  convinced 
that  they  were  not  enamoured  of  wooden  dolls,  would  request  their 
mistress  to  sing  and  dance  a  little  out  of  time,  to  embroider  and 
knit,  and  play  with  their  lap-dogs,  while  listening  to  reading,  &c. ; 
and,  above  all,  not  to  listen  merely,  but  also  sometimes  to  talk, 
in  such  a  manner  as  presupposed  actual  thought  and  feeling.  With 
many  did  the  bond  of  love  become  firmer,  and  more  chaining,  while 
others,  on  the  contrary,  slipped  gently  out  of  the  noose.  "  One 
cannot  really  answer  for  this,"  said  some.  At  tea-parties,  yawn- 
ing prevailed  to  an  incredible  extent,  and  there  was  no  sneezing 
at  all,  that  all  suspicion  might  be  avoided.  Spalanzani,  as  already 
stated,  was  obliged  to  decamp,  to  escape  the  criminal  prosecution  for 
fraudulently  introducing  an  automaton  into  human  society.  Coppola 
had  vanished  also. 

Nathaniel  awakened  as  from  a  heavy,  frightful  dream ;  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  felt  an  indescribable  sensation  of  pleasure  streaming 
through  him,  with  soft  heavenly  warmth.  He  was  in  bed  in  his 
own  room,  in  his  father's  house,  Clara  was  stooping  over  him,  and 
Lothaire  and  his  mother  were  standing  near.  '*  At  last,  at  last,  oh 
beloved  Nathaniel,  hast  thou  recovered  from  thy  serious  illness — now 
thou  art  again  mine !"  So  spoke  Clara,  from  the  very  depth  of  her 
soul,  and  clasped  Nathaniel  in  her  arms.  But  with  mingled  sorrow 
and  delight  did  the  brightly  glowing  tears  fall  from  his  eyes,  and  he 
deeply  groaned  forth:  "My  own — my  own  Clara!"  Sigismund, 
who  had  faithfully  remained  with  his  friend  in  the  hour  of  trouble, 
now  entered.  Nathaniel  stretched  out  his  hand  to  him.  "  And 
thou,  faithful  brother,  hast  not  deserted  me?"  Every  trace  of  Na- 
thaniel's madness  had  vanished,  and  he  soon  gained  strength  amid 
the  care  of  his  mother,  his  beloved,  and  his  friends.  Good  fortune 
also  had  visited  the  house,  for  an  old  penurious  uncle,  of  whom  no- 
thing had  been  expected,  had  died,  and  had  left  the  mother,  besides 
considerable  property,  an  estate  in  a  pleasant  spot  near  the  town. 

M2 


164  THE  SANDMAK. 

Thither  Nathaniel,  with  his  Clara,  whom  he  now  thought  of  marry- 
ing, his  mother,  and  Lothaire,  desired  to  go.  Nathaniel  had  now 
grown  milder  and  more  docile  than  he  had  ever  been,  and  he  now 
understood,  for  the  first  time,  the  heavenly  purity  and  the  greatness 
of  Clara's  mind.  No  one,  by  the  slightest  hint,  reminded  him  of 
the  past.  Only,  when  Sigismund  took  leave  of  him,  Nathaniel  said : 
"  Heavens,  brother,  I  was  in  an  evil  way,  but  a  good  angel  led  me 
betimes  to  the  path  of  light !  Ah,  that  was  Clara !"  Sigismund  did 
not  let  him  carry  the  discourse  further  for  fear  that  deeply  wounding 
recollections  might  burst  forth  bright  and  flaming.  It  was  about 
this  time  that  the  four  happy  persons  thought  of  going  to  the  estate. 
They  were  crossing,  at  noon,  the  streets  of  the  city,  where  they  had 
made  several  purchases,  and  the  high  steeple  of  the  town-house 
already  cast  its  gigantic  shadow  over  the  market-place.  "  Oh,"  said 
Clara,  "  let  us  ascend  it  once  more,  and  look  at  the  distant  moun- 
tains !"  No  sooner  said  than  done.  Nathaniel  and  Clara  both  as- 
cended the  steps,  the  mother  returned  home  with  the  servant,  and 
Lothaire,  not  inclined  to  clamber  up  so  many  steps,  chose  to  remain 
below.  The  two  lovers  stood  arm  in  arm  in  the  highest  gallery  of 
the  tower,  and  looked  down  upon  the  misty  forests,  behind  which 
the  blue  mountains  were  rising  like  a  gigantic  city. 

"  Look  there  at  that  curious  little  gray  bush,  which  actually  seems 
as  if  it  were  striding  towards  us,"  said  Clara.  Nathaniel  mechani- 
cally put  his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket — he  found  Coppola's  tele- 
scope, and  he  looked  on  one  side.  Clara  was  before  the  glass.  There 
was  a  convulsive  movement  in  his  pulse  and  veins, — pale  as  death,  he 
stared  at  Clara,  but  soon  streams  of  fire  flashed  and  glared  from  his 
rolling  eyes,  and  he  roared  frightfully,  like  a  hunted  beast.  Then 
he  sprang  high  into  the  air,  and,  in  the  intervals  of  a  horrible 
laughter,  shrieked  out,  in  a  piercing  tone,  "  Wooden  doll — turn  thy- 
self!"  Seizing  Clara  with  immense  force  he  wished  to  hurl  her 
down,  but  with  the  energy  of  a  desperate  death-struggle  she  clutched 
the  railings.  Lothaire  heard  the  raging  of  the  madman — he  heard 
Clara's  shriek  of  agony — fearful  forebodings  darted  through  his  mind, 
he  ran  up,  the  door  of  the  second  flight  was  fastened,  and  the  shrieks 
of  Clara  became  louder  and  louder.  Frantic  with  rage  and  anxiety, 
he  dashed  against  the  door,  which,  at  last,  burst  open.  Clara's  voice 
became  fainter  and  fainter.  "  Help — help — save  me!" — with  these 
words  the  voice  seemed  to  die  in  the  air.  "  She  is  gone — murdered 
by  the  madman !"  cried  Lothaire.  The  door  of  the  gallery  was  also 
closed,  but  despair  gave  him  a  giant's  strength,  and  he  burst  it  from 


the  hinges.  Heavens — Clara,  grasped  by  the  mad  Nathaniel,  was 
hanging  in  the  air  over  the  gallery, — only  with  one  hand  she  still 
held  one  of  the  iron  railings.  Quick  as  lightning  Lothaire  caught 
his  sister,  drew  her  in,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  struck  the  madman 
in  the  face  with  his  clenched  fist,  so  that  he  reeled  and  let  go  his 
prey. 

Lothaire  ran  down  with  his  fainting  sister  in  his  arms.     She 


-- 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  165 

saved.  Nathaniel  went  raging  about  the  gallery  and  bounded  high 
in  the  air,  crying,  u  Fire  circle  turn  thyself — turn  thyself!"  The 
people  collected  at  the  sound  of  the  wild  shriek,  and  among  them, 
prominent  by  his  gigantic  stature,  was  the  advocate  Coppelius,  who 
had  just  come  to  the  town,  and  was  proceeding  straight  to  the 
market-place.  Some  wished  to  ascend  and  secure  the  madman,  but 
Coppelius  laughed,  saying,  "Ha,  ha, — only  wait — he  will  soon  come 
down  of  his  own  accord,"  and  looked  up  like  the  rest.  Nathaniel 
suddenly  stood  still  as  if  petrified;  he  stooped  down,  perceived  Cop- 
pelius, and  yelling  out,  "  Ah,  pretty  eyes — pretty  eyes !" — he  sprang 
over  the  railing. 

When  Nathaniel  lay  on  the  stone  pavement,  with  his  head  shat- 
tered, Coppelius  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Many  years  afterwards  it  is  said  that  Clara  was  seen  in  a  remote 
spot,  sitting  hand  in  hand  with  a  kind-looking  man  before  the  door 
of  a  country  house,  while  two  lively  boys  played  before  her.  From, 
this  it  may  be  inferred  that  she  at  last  found  that  quiet  domestic  hap- 
piness which  suited  her  serene  and  cheerful  mind,  and  which  the 
morbid  Nathaniel  would  never  have  given  her. 

J.O. 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS/ 

BY  HEINRICH  VON  KLEIST. 

ON  the  banks  of  the  Hafel,  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, lived  a  horse-dealer,  named  Michael  Kohlhaas.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  schoolmaster,  and  was  one  of  the  most  honest,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  was  one  of  the  most  terrible  persons  of  his  period. 
Till  his  thirtieth  year  this  extraordinary  man  might  have  passed  as 
a  pattern  of  a  good  citizen.  In  a  village,  which  still  bears  his  name, 
he  held  a  farm,  on  which,  by  means  of  his  business,  he  was  enabled 
to  live  quietly.  The  children  whom  his  wife  bore  him,  he  brought 
up  in  the  fear  of  God  to  honesty  and  industry ;  and  there  was  not 
one  among  his  neighbours  who  had  not  felt  the  benefit  of  his  kind- 
ness or  his  sense  of  justice.  In  short,  the  world  might  have  blessed 
his  memory  had  he  not  carried  one  virtue  to  too  great  an  extreme. 
The  feeling  of  justice  made  him  a  robber  and  a  murderer. 

He  was  once  riding  abroad,  with  a  string  of  young  horses,  all 
sleek  and  well-fed,  and  was  calculating  how  he  should  expend  the 

*  On  one  point  the  translator  of  this  tale  solicits  the  indulgence  of  his  critical 
readers.  A  great  number  of  official  names  and  legal  terms  occur,  the  technical 
meaning  of  which  could  not  properly  be  defined  by  any  one  but  a  German  jurist. 
As  these  names  have  no  exact  equivalents  in  English,  the  names  into  which  they  are 
here  translated  may  appear  arbitrary.  The  translator  can  only  say  that,  where  ex- 
was  impossible,  he  has  done  his  best. 


166  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

profit  which  he  hoped  to  make  in  the  markets — apportioning  part, 
like  a  good  manager,  to  gain  further  profit,  and  part  to  present  en- 
joyment— when  he  came  to  the  Elbe,  and  found,  by  a  stately  castle 
in  the  Saxon  dominion,  a  toll-bar,  which  he  had  never  seen  on  this 
road.  He  at  once  stopped  with  his  horses,  while  the  rain  was  pour- 
ing down,  and  called  to  the  toll-taker,  who  soon,  with  a  very  cross 
face,  peeped  out  of  window.  The  horse-dealer  asked  him  to  open 
the  road.  "  What  new  fashion  is  this?"  said  he,  when,  after  a  con- 
siderable time,  the  collector  came  out  of  his  house.  "  A  sovereign 
privilege,"  was  his  reply,  as  he  unlocked  the  bar,  "  granted  to  the 
Squire*  Wenzel  von  Trcnka."  "  So,"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  Wenzel's  the 
squire's  name,  is  it?" — and  he  looked  at  the  castle,  which,  with  its 
glittering  battlements,  peered  over  the  field.  "  Is  the  old  master 
dead?"  "Of  an  apoplexy,"  answered  the  collector,  as  he  lifted  up 
the  bar.  "  That's  a  pity !"  said  Kohlhaas.  "  He  was  a  worthy  old 
gentleman,  who  took  delight  in  the  intercourse  of  men,  and  helped 
business  when  he  could.  Aye,  once  he  had  a  dam  built  of  stone, 
because  a  mare  of  mine  broke  her  leg  yonder,  where  the  way  leads 
to  the  village.  Now,  how  much?"  he  asked,  and  with  difficulty 
drew  out  from  his  mantle,  which  fluttered  in  the  wind,  the  groschen 
required  by  the  collector.  "  Aye,  old  man,"  said  he,  as  the  other 
muttered,  "  make  haste,"  and  cursed  the  weather. — "  If  the  tree  from 
which  this  bar  was  fashioned  had  remained  in  the  wood,  it  would 
have  been  better  for  both  of  us."  Having  paid  the  money,  he  would 
have  pursued  his  journey,  but  scarcely  had  he  passed  the  bar  than 
he  heard  behind  him  a  new  voice  calling  from  the  tower: 

"  Ho,  there,  horse-dealer !"  and  saw  the  castellan  shut  the  window, 
and  hasten  down  to  him.  "  Now,  something  else  new!"  said  Kohl- 
haas to  himself,  stopping  with  his  horses.  The  castellan,  buttoning  a 
waistcoat  over  his  spacious  stomach,  came,  and  standing  aslant  against 
the  rain,  asked  for  his  passport.  "Passport!"  cried  Kohlhaas;  ad- 
ding, a  little  puzzled,  that  he  had  not  one  about  him,  to  his  know- 
ledge ;  but  that  he  should  like  to  be  told  what  sort  of  a  thing  it  was 
as  he  might  perchance  be  provided  with  one,  notwithstanding.  The 
castellan,  eyeing  him  askance,  remarked,  that  without  a  written  per- 
mission no  horse-dealer,  with  horses,  would  be  allowed  to  pass  the 
border.  The  horse-dealer  asserted  that  he  had  crossed  the  border 
seventeen  times  in  the  course  of  his  life  without  any  such  paper; 
that  he  knew  perfectly  all  the  seignorial  privileges  which  belonged 
to  his  business ;  that  this  would  only  prove  a  mistake,  and  that  he, 
therefore,  hoped  he  might  be  allowed  to  think  it  over ;  and,  as  his 
journey  was  long,  not  be  detained  thus  uselessly  any  further.  The 
castellan  answered  that  he  would  not  escape  the  eighteenth  time; 
that  the  regulation  had  but  lately  appeared,  and  that  he  must  either 
take  a  passport  here  or  return  whence  he  had  come.  The  horse- 
dealer,  who  began  to  be  nettled  at  these  illegal  exactions,  dismounted 
from  his  horse,  after  reflecting  for  a  while,  and  said  he  would  speak 

*  "  Squire"  is  used  as  an  equivalent  for  "  Junker."  "  Castellan"  is  put  for  "  Burg- 
voigt"  and  "  Schlossvoigt." 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  167 

to  the  Squire  von  Tronka  himself.  He  accordingly  went  up  to  the 
castle,  followed  by  the  castellan,  who  muttered  something  about 
stingy  money-scrapers,  and  the  utility  of  bleeding  them,  and  both, 
measuring  each  other  with  their  looks,  entered  the  hall. 

The  squire,  as  it  happened,  was  drinking  with  some  boon  compa- 
nions, and  they  all  burst  out  into  a  ceaseless  fit  of  laughter  at  some 
jest,  when  Kohlhaas  approached  to  state  his  grievance.  The  squire 
asked  him  what  he  wanted,  while  the  knights,  eyeing  the  stranger, 
remained  still;  yet  hardly  had  he  begun  his  request  concerning  the 
horses,  than  the  whole  company  cried  out — u  Horses !  where  are 
they?"  and  ran  to  the  window  to  see  them.  No  sooner  had  they  set 
eyes  on  the  sleek  lot  than,  on  the  motion  of  the  squire,  down  they 
flew  into  the  court-yard.  The  rain  had  ceased;  castellan,  bailiff 
and  servants,  were  collected  around,  and  all  surveyed  the  animals. 
One  praised  the  sorrel  with  the  white  spot  on  his  forehead,  another 
liked  the  chesnut,  a  third  patted  the  dappled  one  with  tawney  spots, 
and  agreed  that  the  horses  were  like  so  many  stags,  and  that  none 
better  could  be  reared  in  the  country.  Kohlhaas,  in  high  spirits, 
replied  that  the  horses  were  no  better  than  the  knights  who  should 
ride  them,  and  asked  them  to  make  a  purchase.  The  squire,  who 
was  greatly  taken  with  the  strong  sorrel  stallion,  asked  the  price, 
while  the  bailiff  pressed  him  to  buy  a  pair  of  blacks  which  he 
thought  might  be  usefully  employed  on  the  estate;  but  when  the 
horse-dealer  named  his  terms,  the  knights  found  them  too  high,  and 
the  squire  said  that  he  might  ride  to  the  round  table  and  find  King 
Arthur  if  he  fixed  such  prices  as  these.  Kohlhaas,  who  saw  the 
castellan  and  the  bailiff  whisper  together,  as  they  cast  most  signi- 
ficant glances  on  the  blacks,  left  nothing  undone,  actuated  as  he  was 
by  some  dark  foreboding,  to  make  them  take  the  horses. 

"  See  sir,"  he  said  to  the  squire,  "  I  bought  the  blacks  for  five- 
and-twenty  gold  crowns,  six  months  ago.  Give  me  thirty  and  they 
are  yours." 

Two  of  the  knights,  who  stood  near  the  squire,  said  plainly  enough 
that  the  horses  were  well  worth  the  money ;  but  the  squire  thought 
that  he  might  buy  the  sorrel,  while  he  objected  to  take  the  blacks,  and 
made  preparations  to  depart,  when  Kohlhaas,  saying  that  they  would 
conclude  a  bargain  the  next  time  he  went  that  way  with  his  horses, 
bade  farewell  to  the  squire,  and  took  his  horse's  bridle  to  ride  off. 
At  this  moment  the  castellan  stepped  forward  from  the  rest,  and  said 
that  he  had  told  him  he  could  not  travel  without  a  passport.  Kohl- 
haas, turning  round,  asked  the  squire  whether  this  really  was  the 
case,  adding  that  it  would  prove  the  utter  destruction  of  his  business. 
The  squire,  somewhat  confused,  answered  as  he  withdrew, 

"  Yes,  Kohlhaas,  you  must  have  a  pass ;  speak  about  it  with  the  cas- 
tellan, and  go  your  way."  Kohlhaas  assured  him  that  he  had  no  notion 
of  evading  such  regulations  as  might  be  made  respecting  the  convey- 
ance of  horses,  promised,  in  his  way  through  Dresden,  to  get  a  pass 
from  the  secretary's  office,  and  begged  that  he  might,  on  this  occa- 
sion, be  allowed  to  go  on,  as  he  knew  nothing  of  the  requisition. 


168  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

"  Well,"  said  the  squire,  while  the  storm  broke  out  anew  and  rattled 
against  his  thin  limbs,  "  Let  the  fellow  go.  Come,"  said  he  to  his 
knights,  and  moving  round,  he  was  proceeding  to  the  castle.  The 
castellan,  however,  turning  to  him  said  that  Kohlhaas  must  at  least 
leave  some  pledge  that  he  would  get  the  passport.  The  squire,  upon 
this,  remained  standing  at  the  castle-gate,  while  Kohlhaas  asked  what 
security  in  money  or  in  kind  he  should  leave  on  account  of  the  black 
horses.  The  bailiff  mumbled  out  that  he  thought  the  horses  them- 
selves might  as  well  be  left.  "  Certainly,"  said  the  castellan,  "  That 
is  the  best  plan.  When  he  has  got  the  pass  he  can  take  them  away 
at  any  time." 

Kohlhaas,  astounded  at  so  impudent  a  proposition,  told  the  squire, 
who  was  shivering  and  holding  his  waistcoat  tight  to  his  body,  that 
he  should  like  to  sell  him  the  blacks ;  but  the  latter,  as  a  gust  of 
wind  drove  a  world  of  rain  through  the  gate,  cried  out,  to  cut  the 
matter  short,  "  If  he  won't  leave  his  horses  pitch  him  over  the 
bar  back  again !"  and  so  saying,  left  the  spot.  The  horse-dealer, 
who  saw  that  he  must  give  way  to  force,  resolved,  as  he  could  not  do 
otherwise,  to  comply  with  the  request,  so  he  unfastened  the  blacks,  and 
conducted  them  to  a  stable  which  the  castellan  showed  him,  left  a 
servant  behind,  gave  him  money,  told  him  to  take  care  of  the  blacks 
till  his  return,  and  doubting  whether,  on  account  of  the  advances 
made  in  breeding,  there  might  not  be  such  a  law  in  Saxony,  he 
continued  his  journey  with  the  rest  of  his  horses  to  Leipzig,  where 
he  wished  to  attend  the  fair. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  Dresden,  where,  in  one  of  the  suburbs  he 
had  a  house  with  stables,  being  in  the  habit  of  carrying  on  his  trade 
from  thence  with  the  lesser  markets  of  the  country,  he  went  to  the 
secretary's  office,  and  there  learned  from  the  councillors,  some  of 
whom  he  knew,  what  he  had  expected  at  first — namely,  that  the 
story  about  the  passport  was  a  mere  fable.  The  displeased  coun- 
cillors having,  at  the  request  of  Kohlhaas,  given  him  a  certificate  as 
to  the  nullity  of  the  requisition,  he  laughed  at  the  thin  squire's  jest, 
though  he  did  not  exactly  see  the  purport  of  it;  and,  having  in  a 
few  weeks  sold  his  horses  to  his  satisfaction,  he  returned  to  the 
Tronkenburg  without  any  bitter  feeling  beyond  that  at  the  general 
troubles  of  the  world.  The  castellan,  to  whom  he  showed  the  cer- 
tificate, gave  no  sort  of  explanation,  but  merely  said,  in  answer  to 
the  question  of  the  horse-dealer,  whether  he  might  have  the  horses 
back  again,  that  he  might  go  and  fetch  them.  Already,  as  he 
crossed  the  court-yard,  Kohlhaas  heard  the  unpleasant  news  that 
his  servant,  on  account  of  improper  conduct,  as  they  said,  had  been 
beaten  and  sent  off  a  few  days  after  he  had  been  left  at  the  Tron- 
kenburg. He  asked  the  young  man  who  gave  him  this  intel- 
ligence, what  the  servant  had  done,  and  who  had  attended  the 
horses  in  the  meanwhile.  He  replied  that  he  did  not  know,  and 
opened  the  stall  in  which  they  were  kept  to  the  horse-dealer,  whose 
heart  already  swelled  with  dark  misgivings.  How  gicut  ^vas  his 
astonishment  when,  instead  of  his  sleek,  well-fed  blacks,  he  suw  a 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  169 

couple  of  skinny,  jaded  creatures,  with  bones  on  which  things 
might  have  been  hung,  as  on  hooks,  and  manes  entangled  from 
want  of  care ;  in  a  word,  a  true  picture  of  animal  misery.  Kohlhaas, 
to  whom  the  horses  neighed  with  a  slight  movement,  was  indig- 
nant in  the  highest  degree,  and  asked  what  had  befallen  the  crea- 
tures? The  servant  answered,  that  no  particular  misfortune  had  be- 
fallen them,  but  that,  as  there  had  been  a  want  of  draught-cattle,  they 
had  been  used  a  little  in  the  fields.  Kohlhaas  cursed  this  shameful 
and  preconcerted  act  of  arbitrary  power ;  but,  feeling  his  own  weak- 
ness, suppressed  his  rage,  and,  as  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done, 
prepared  to  leave  the  robber's  nest  with  his  horses,  when  the  cas- 
tellan, attracted  by  the  conversation,  made  his  appearance,  and 
asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Matter!"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  who  allowed  Squire  Von  Tronka  and 
his  people  to  work  in  the  fields  the  horses  that  I  left  ?'  He  asked  if  this 
was  humanity,  tried  to  rouse  the  exhausted  beasts  by  a  stroke  with  a 
switch,  and  showed  him  that  they  could  not  move.  The  castellan, 
after  he  had  looked  at  him  for  awhile,  insolently  enough  said,  "  Now, 
there's  an  ill-mannered  clown !  Why  does  not  the  fellow  thank  his 
God  that  his  beasts  are  still  living  ?"  He  asked  whose  business  it  was  to 
take  care  of  them  when  the  boy  had  run  away,  and  whether  it  was 
not  fair  that  the  horses  should  earn  in  the  fields  the  food  that  was 
given  them,  and  concluded  by  telling  him  to  cease  jabbering,  or  he . 
would  call  out  the  dogs,  and  get  some  quiet  that  way  at  any  rate. 

The  horse-dealer's  heart  beat  strongly  against  his  waistcoat,  he  felt 
strongly  inclined  to  fling  the  good-for-nothing  mass  of  fat  into  the 
mud,  and  set  his  foot  on  his  brazen  countenance.  Yet  his  feeling 
of  right,  which  was  accurate  as  a  gold  balance,  still  wavered ;  before 
the  tribunal  of  his  own  heart,  he  was  still  uncertain  whether  his 
adversary  was  in  the  wrong;  and,  while  pocketing  the  affronts,  he 
went  to  his  horses  and  smoothed  down  their  manes.  Silently 
weighing  the  circumstances,  he  asked,  in  a  subdued  voice,  on  what 
account  the  servant  had  been  sent  away  from  the  castle.  The  cas- 
tellan answered  that  it  was  because  the  rascal  had  been  impudent. 
He  had  resisted  a  necessary  change  of  stables,  and  had  desired  that 
the  horses  of  two  young  noblemen,  who  had  come  to  Tronkenburg, 
should  remain  out  all  night  in  the  high  road.  Kohlhaas  would  have 
given  the  value  of  the  horses  to  have  had  the  servant  by  him,  and 
to  have  compared  his  statement  with  that  of  the  thick-lipped  cas- 
tellan. He  stood  awhile  and  smoothed  the  tangles  out  of  the 
manes,  bethinking  himself  what  was  to  be  done  in  his  situation, 
when  suddenly  the  scene  changed,  and  the  Squire  Von  Tronka, 
with  a  host  of  knights,  servants,  and  dogs,  returning  from  a  hare- 
hunt  galloped  into  the  castle-court.  The  castellan,  when  the  squire 
asked  what  had  happened,  took  care  to  speak  first;  and,  while  the 
dogs  at  the  sight  of  the  stranger  were  barking  at  him  on  one  side, 
with  the  utmost  fury,  and  the  knights  on  the  other  side  were  trying 
to  silence  them,  he  set  forth,  distorting  the  matter  as  much  as  pos- 


170  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

sible,  the  disturbance  that  the  horse-dealer  had  created,  because  his 
horses  had  been  used  a  little.  Laughing  scornfully,  he  added  that 
he  had  refused  to  acknowledge  them  as  his  own.  "  They  are  not 
my  horses,  your  worship!"  cried  Kohlhaas;  "these  are  not  the 
horses  that  were  worth  thirty  golden  crowns !  I  will  have  my  sound 
and  well-fed  horses."  The  squire,  whose  face  became  pale  for  a 
moment,  alighted  and  said,  "  If  the  rascal  will  not  take  his  horses, 
why  let  him  leave  them.  Come  Gunther,  come  Hans,"  cried  he, 
as  he  brushed  the  dust  from  his  breeches  with  his  hand.  "  And, 
ho!  wine  there!"  he  called,  as  he  crossed  the  threshold  with  the 
knights  and  entered  his  dwelling.  Kohlhaas  said  that  he  would 
rather  send  for  the  knacker  and  have  the  horses  knocked  on  the 
head,  than  he  would  take  them  in  such  a  condition  to  his  stable  at 
Kohlhaasenbriick.  He  left  them  standing  where  they  were,  without 
troubling  himself  further  about  them,  and  vowing  that  he  would 
have  justice,  flung  himself  on  his  brown  horse,  and  rode  off. 

He  was  just  setting  off  full  speed  for  Dresden,  when,  at  the 
thought  of  the  servant,  and  at  the  complaint  that  had  been  made 
against  him  at  the  castle,  he  began  to  walk  slowly,  turned  his 
horse's  head  before  he  had  gone  a  thousand  paces,  and  took  the  road  to 
Kohlhaasenbriick,  that,  in  accordance  with  his  notions  of  prudence  and 
justice,  he  might  first  hear  the  servant's  account  of  the  matter.  For 
a  correct  feeling,  well  inured  to  the  defective  ways  of  the  world,  in- 
clined him,  in  spite  of  the  affronts  he  had  received,  to  pass  over  the 
loss  of  his  horses,  as  an  equitable  result;  if,  indeed,  as  the  castellan 
had  maintained,  it  could  be  proved  that  his  servant  was  in  the 
wrong.  On  the  other  hand,  a  feeling  equally  honourable,  which 
gained  ground  as  he  rode  further,  and  heard,  wherever  he  stopped, 
of  the  wrongs  that  travellers  had  to  endure  every  day  at  the  Tronk- 
enburg,  told  him,  that  if  the  whole  affair  was  a  concerted  scheme — 
as,  indeed,  it  seemed  to  be— it  was  his  duty  to  use  every  effort  to 
obtain  satisfaction  for  the  affronts  he  had  endured,  and  to  secure  his 
fellow-citizens  for  the  future. 

As  soon  as,  on  his  arrival  at  Kohlhaasenbriick,  he  had  embraced 
his  good  wife  Lisbeth,  and  kissed  his  children,  who  sported  about 
his  knees,  he  inquired  after  his  head  servant,  Herse,  and  whether 
any  thing  had  been  heard  of  him. 

"  Yes,  dearest  Michael,"  said  Lisbeth,  "  and  only  think — that 
unfortunate  Herse  came  here  about  a  fortnight  ago,  beaten  most 
barbarously — aye,  so  beaten,  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe.  We 
took  him  to  bed,  when  he  spat  a  good  deal  of  blood,  and,  in  answer 
to  our  repeated  questions,  told  a  story  which  none  of  us  could  un- 
derstand;— how  he  was  left  behind  by  you  at  the  Tronkenburg 
with  the  horses,  which  were  not  allowed  to  pass,  how  he  was  forced, 
by  the  most  shameful  ill-usage,  to  leave  the  castle,  and  how  he  was 
unable  to  bring  the  horses  with  him." 

"Indeed!"  said  Kohlhaas,  putting  off  his  mantle,  "is  he  reco- 
vered now  ?" 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  171 

"  Tolerably,"  she  answered,  "  with  the  exception  of  the  spitting 
of  blood.  I  wished  immediately  to  send  a  servant  to  the  Tronken- 
burg,  to  take  care  of  the  horses  till  you  went  there,  for  Herse  has 
always  been  so  honest,  indeed  so  much  more  faithful  to  us  than  any 
one  else,  that  I  never  thought  of  doubting  a  statement  supported  by 
so  many  evident  signs  of  truth,  or  of  believing  that  he  had  lost  the 
horses  in  any  other  way.  Yet  he  entreated  me  not  to  counsel  any 
one  to  show  himself  in  that  robber's  nest,  and  to  give  up  the  horses, 
if  I  would  not  sacrifice  a  human  being." 

"  Is  he  still  in  bed?"  asked  Kohlhaas,  loosening  his  neckcloth. 

"  For  the  last  few  days  he  has  gone  about  in  the  court,"  she  an- 
swered— "  in  short,  you  will  see  that  all  is  true  enough,  and  that 
this  affair  is  one  of  the  atrocities  which  the  people  at  the  Tronken- 
burg  have  lately  perpetrated  against  strangers." 

"  That  I  must  look  into,"  said  Kohlhaas.  "  Call  him  here,  Lis- 
beth,  if  he  is  up."  With  these  words  he  sat  himself  down,  while 
the  housewife,  who  was  pleased  to  see  him  so  forbearing,  went  and 
fetched  the  servant. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  at  the  Tronkenburg?"  asked  Kohl- 
haas, as  Lisbeth  entered  the  room  with  him.  "  I  am  not  well 
pleased  with  you."  The  servant,  in  whose  pale  face  a  spot  of  red 
appeared  at  these  words,  was  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  said — 

"  You  are  right,  master,  for  I  flung  into  the  Elbe  a  match,  which, 
by  God's  providence,  I  had  with  me,  to  set  on  fire  the  robber's  nest, 
from  which  I  was  driven,  as  I  heard  a  child  crying  within,  and 
thought  to  myself — i  God's  lightning  may  consume  it,  but  I  will 
not.1 " 

"  But  what  did  you  do  to  be  sent  away  from  the  Tronkenburg  ?" 
said  Kohlhaas,  much  struck. 

"  It  was  on  account  of  a  bad  piece  of  business,"  said  Herse,  wip- 
ing the  perspiration  from  his  forehead;  "  but  no  matter,  '  what  can't 
be  cured  must  be  endured/  I  would  not  allow  the  horses  to  be 
ruined  by  field  work,  and  told  them  they  were  still  young,  and  had 
never  been  used  for  drawing." 

Kohlhaas,  endeavouring  to  conceal  the  pertubation  of  his  mind, 
observed,  that  Herse  had  not  quite  told  the  truth  in  this  instance,  as 
the  horses  had  been  in  harness  a  little  during  the  preceding  spring. 
"  As  you  were  a  kind  of  guest  at  the  castle,  you  might  have  obliged 
them  once  or  twice,  when  they  were  forced  to  get  in  their  harvest  as 
quickly  as  they  could." 

"  So  I  did,  master,"  replied  Herse,  "  I  thought,  as  they  began  to 
make  wry  faces,  that  it  would  not  cost  us  the  horses,  at  all  events. 
On  the  third  morning  I  put  them  too,  and  brought  in  three  loads  of 
corn." 

Kohlhaas,  whose  heart  swelled,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and 
said,  "  They  told  me  nothing  of  that,  Herse." 

The  man,  however,  assured  him  that  it  was  so.  "  My  incivility," 
he  said,  "  consisted  in  this:  that  I  would  not  allow  the  horses  to  be 


172  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

yoked  again,  when  they  had  scarcely  taken  their  feed  at  noon,  and 
that  when  the  castellan  and  the  bailiff  told  me  to  take  fodder  gratis, 
and  to  pocket  the  money  which  had  been  given  me,  I  gave  them  a 
short  answer,  turned  on  my  heel,  and  walked  off." 

44  But,"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  it  was  not  for  this  incivility  that  you 
were  sent  away  from  the  Tronkenburg." 

"  God  forbid !"  said  the  man,  "  it  was  on  account  of  a  rascally 
piece  of  injustice.  For  in  the  evening,  the  horses  of  two  knights, 
who  had  come  to  the  Tronkenburg,  were  put  in  the  stable,  and  mine 
were  tied  to  the  stable-door.  And  when  I  took  the  horses  out  of  the 
hand  of  the  castellan,  and  asked  him  where  they  were  to  be  kept,  he 
showed  me  a  pigsty,  built  with  boards  and  laths  against  the  castle  wall." 

"  You  mean,"  interrupted  Kohlhaas,  "  that  it  was  such  a  bad 
pkce  for  horses,  that  it  was  more  like  a  pigsty  than  a  stable." 

"  I  mean  a  pigsty,  master,"  saidHerse,  "  really  and  truly  a  pigsty, 
where  the  pigs  ran  in  and  out,  and  in  which  I  could  not  stand  upright." 

41  Perhaps  there  was  no  other  place  for  the  horses,"  observed 
Kohlhaas,  "  and  those  of  the  knights  had,  in  some  measure,  the  pre- 
ference." 

"  The  place,"  answered  the  servant,  dropping  his  voice,  "  was  in- 
deed narrow.  Seven  knights  in  all  were  stopping  at  the  castle ;  but 
if  it  had  been  you — you  would  have  put  the  horses  a  little  closer  to- 
gether. I  said  that  I  would  try  to  hire  a  stable  in  the  village,  but 
the  castellan  objected  that  he  must  have  the  horses  under  his  own 
eye,  and  that  I  must  not  venture  to  move  them  from  the  yard." 

44  Hem !"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  what  did  you  do  then?" 

44  Why,  as  the  bailiff  told  me  that  the  two  guests  would  only 
stop  over  the  night,  and  would  leave  the  next  morning,  I  led  the 
horses  into  the  sty.  But  the  next  day  passed,  and  nothing  of  the 
kind  took  place ;  and  when  the  third  came,  I  heard  the  visitors  would 
remain  at  the  castle  for  some  weeks." 

"  Then,  in  the  end,"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  it  was  not  so  bad  in  the 
pigsty,  as  it  seemed,  when  first  you  looked  into  it." 

44  True,"  replied  Herse,  "  when  I  had  swept  the  place  a  bit,  it  was 
passable.  Then  I  gave  the  girl  a  groschen  to  put  the  pigs  some- 
where else,  and  during  the  day,  at  least,  I  managed  to  let  the  horses 
stand  upright,  for  I  took  off  the  boards  at  the  top,  when  the  morning 
dawned,  and  put  them  on  again  in  the  evening.  They  peeped  out 
of  the  roof  like  so  many  geese,  and  looked  after  Kohlhaasenbruck,  or 
some  pkce  at  any  rate,  where  they  would  be  better  off." 

44  But  now,"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  why  in  the  world  did  they  send 
you  away?" 

44  Because,  master,"  replied  the  man,  "  they  wanted  to  get  rid  of 
me;  because,  as  long  as  I  was  there,  they  could  not  ruin  the  horses. 
In  the  yard,  and  in  the  servants'  room,  they  always  made  queer  faces 
at  me,  and  because  I  thought  4  you  may  twist  your  mouths  out  of 
joint,  if  you  like/  they  managed  to  find  a  pretext,  and  turned  me 
out  of  the  yard." 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  173 

"  But  the  reason,"  said  Kohlhaas,  "  they  must  have  had  some 
reason." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Herse,  "  and  a  very  good  one  too.  On 
the  evening  of  the  second  day  which  I  had  passed  in  the  sty,  I  took 
the  horses,  which  had  become  dirty,  and  was  going  to  ride  them 
out  to  water.  When  I  was  just  at  the  gate,  and  was  about  to  turn, 
I  heard  the  castellan  and  the  bailiff,  with  servants,  dogs,  and  sticks, 
rush  upon  me  from  the  servants'  room,  and  shout  out  '  Stop  the  thief, 
stop  the  hangdog !'  as  if  they  were  all  possessed.  The  gate-keeper 
intercepted  my  passage,  and  when  I  asked  him  and  the  uproarious 
mob  what  was  the  matter,  the  castellan,  seizing  the  bridle  of  the 
two  horses,  cried,  '  Matter,  indeed !  Where  are  you  going  with  the 
horses  ?'  and  so  saying,  seized  me  by  the  collar.  4  Why,  where 
should  I  be  going?'  said  I,  '  I  am  going  to  water  the  horses/  '  Oh, 
to  water !'  cried  the  castellan,  c  I'll  water  you !  I'll  teach  you  to  swim 
on  the  high  road  all  the  way  to  Kohlhaasenbriick/  Upon  this,  he 
and  the  bailiff,  who  had  laid  hold  of  my  leg,  flung  me  treacher- 
ously from  the  horse,  so  that  I  lay  full  length  in  the  mud.  '  Mur- 
der !'  shouted  I,  '  There  are  the  harness,  and  the  horse-cloths,  and  a 
bundle  of  linen  belonging  to  me  in  the  stable.'  But  the  castellan 
and  the  servants,  while  the  bailiff  led  off  the  horses,  belaboured 
me  with  whips,  and  cudgels,  and  kicks,  till  I  fell  down,  half  dead,  at 
the  gate.  And  when  I  said,  '  Where  are  the  thievish  rogues  taking- 
the  horses?'  and  got  up,  f  Out  of  the  castle-yard !'  cried  the  castel- 
lan. '  Ho,  there,  Caesar ! — Ho,  Touzer ! — Ho,  Pincher !'  and  straight 
more  than  a  dozen  dogs  flew  at  me.  At  this  I  broke  a  stick  or 
something  from  the  fence,  and  lay  three  of  the  dogs  dead  at  my  feet ; 
but  when,  tortured  by  their  fangs,  I  was  forced  to  give  way,  '  Phew  T 
went  a  pipe — the  dogs  were  in  the  yard — bang  went  the  gate — the 
bolt  was  drawn,  and  down  in  the  road  I  fell,  quite  exhausted." 

Kohlhaas,  though  his  face  was  white,  affected  a  jocose  style,  and 
said,  "  Now,  did  not  you  wish  to  abscond,  Herse  ?"  and  when  the 
man,  colouring,  looked  on  the  ground,  he  added,  "  Now  confess, 
you  did  not  like  the  pigsty,  you  thought  the  stable  in  Kohlhaasen- 
briick  much  better — did  you  not?"  "  Thunder  of  Heaven!"  ex- 
claimed Herse,  "  I  left  the  harness  and  horse-cloths,  and  the  bundle 
of  linen  in  the  sty.  Should  I  not  have  secured  the  three  crowns' 
which  I  left  in  the  red  silk  neckerchief,  hid  behind  the  manger?' 
Death  and  the  devil! — When  you  talk  so,  you  make  me  wish  to 
light  that  match  again  which  I  threw  away;"  "  Nay,  nay,"  said. 
Kohlhaas,  "  I  did  not  mean  so  ill  with  you,  I  believe  every  word 
you  have  spoken,  and  if  there  is  any  talk  about  it,  I  will  take  the- 
sacrament  upon  it ;  I  am  only  sorry  that  you  fared  no  better  in  my 
service.  Go  to  bed,  Herse ;  go  to  bed.  Take  a  flask  of  wine  and. 
comfort  yourself — you  shall  have  justice."  He  then  rose,  asked  for 
a  list  of  the  things  which  the  man  had  left  in  the  sty,  specified  their 
value ;  asked  him  the  expenses  of  curing  his  hurt,  and,  after  shaking: 
hands  with  him,  let  him  go. 


174  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

He  then  told  liis  wife,  Lisbeth,  the  whole  particulars  of  the  affair; 
said  that  he  was  resolved  to  claim  public  justice,  and  was  pleased  to 
see  that  in  this  design  she  fully  agreed  with  him.  For  she  said  that 
many  other  travellers,  probably  less  forbearing  than  he,  would  go  by 
that  castle,  that  it  would  be  a  pious  work  to  stop  disorders  like  these, 
and  that  she  would  soon  collect  enough  for  the  expenses  of  the  suit. 
Kohlhaas  called  her  a  dear  woman,  passed  this  and  the  following  day 
with  her  and  his  children,  and,  as  soon  as  business  allowed,  went  to 
Dresden  to  make  his  complaint  before  the  tribunal. 

Then  with  the  help  of  a  lawyer  of  his  acquaintance  he  drew  up  a 
petition,  in  which,  after  a  circumstantial  statement  of  the  wrong 
which  the  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka  had  done  both  to  him,  and 
his  servant  Herse,  he  claimed  that  he  should  be  punished  according 
to  law,  that  his  horses  should  be  restored  to  their  former  condition, 
and  that  compensation  should  be  awarded  for  the  wrong  which  he 
and  his  servant  had  suffered.  The  case  was  clear  enough,  the  fact 
that  the  horses  had  been  illegally  detained  threw  a  light  on  all  the 
rest,  and  even  if  it  were  assumed  that  they  had  been  injured  merely 
by  chance,  the  claim  of  their  owner  to  have  them  back  in  a  healthy 
condition,  was  nevertheless  just.  Besides  Kohlhaas  had  plenty  of 
good  friends  at  Dresden,  who  promised  heartily  to  support  his  cause, 
his  extensive  trade  in  horses  had  gained  him  a  numerous  acquaintance, 
and  the  honesty  of  his  dealings  had  acquired  him  the  good  will  of  the 
most  important  men  in  the  country.  He  frequently  dined  with  his 
advocate,  who  was  himself  a  man  of  consequence,  gave  him  a  sum  to 
defray  the  law  expenses,  and  being  fully  satisfied  by  him  as  to  the 
issue  of  the  suit,  returned,  after  a  few  weeks  to  his  wife  at  Kohl- 
haasenbriick.  However  months  passed  on,  and  the  year  was  nearly 
at  an  end,  and  he  had  not  yet  got  from  Saxony  even  a  statement 
concerning  his  suit,  much  less  the  decision  itself.  After  he  had  ap- 
plied to  the  tribunal  several  times  anew  he  asked  his  legal  assistant 
in  a  confidential  letter,  what  could  be  the  cause  of  this  monstrous 
delay,  and  learned  that  his  suit  had  been  entirely  set  aside  in  conse- 
quence of  a  high  application  to  the  supreme  court  at  Dresden.  In 
answer  to  another  letter  from  the  horse-dealer,  couched  in  terms  of  high 
dissatisfaction,  and  asking  a  reason  for  all  this,  the  jurist  replied,  that 
the  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka  was  related  to  two  young  gentlemen, 
Herrn  Henry  and  Conrad  von  Tronka,  one  of  whom  was  attached  to  the 
lord  cup-bearer,  while  the  other  was  chamberlain.  He  advised  him, 
without  proceeding  further  in  the  suit,  to  try  to  get  his  horses  back 
from  the  Tronkenburg,  gave  him  to  understand  that  the  squire,  who 
was  now  in  the  capital,  had  ordered  his  people  to  return  them,  and 
finally  entreated  him,  if  he  would  not  be  satisfied,  at  any-rate  not  to 
give  him  (the  writer)  any  further  commissions  relative  to  the  matter. 

At  this  time,  Kohlhaas  happened  to  be  in  Brandenburg,  where  the 
town-governor  (Stadt-hauptmann)  Heinrich  von  Geusau,  to  whose 
jurisdiction  Kohlhaasenbriick  belonged,  was  occupied  in  founding 
several  charitable  institutions  for  the  poor  and  sick,  a  considerable 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  175 

sum,  which  had  come  into  the  possession  of  the  city,  being  appro- 
priated for  that  purpose.  Above  all  he  was  endeavouring  to  convert 
a  mineral  spring,  the  source  of  which  was  in  a  neighbouring  village, 
and  concerning  the  virtues  of  which  higher  expectations  were  raised 
than  were  fulfilled  by  the  parties,  to  the  use  of  invalids,  and  as 
Kohlhaas,  in  consequence  of  many  transactions  he  had  had  with  him, 
during  his  sojourn  at  the  court,  was  well  known  to  him,  he  allowed 
the  servant  Herse,  who  had  not  been  able  to  breathe  without  a  pain 
in  the  chest  since  the  unlucky  day  at  Tronkenburg,  to  try  the  little 
spring,  which  was  now  enclosed  and  roofed  over.  Now  it  chanced  that 
the  governor  was  standing  by  the  bath,  in  which  Herse  was  laid  by 
Kohlhaas,  to  make  certain  arrangements,  when  the  horse-dealer  re- 
ceived by  a  messenger,  sent  by  his  wife,  the  disheartening  letter  from  his 
advocate  at  Dresden.  The  governor,  who  while  he  was  talking  with 
the  physician,  saw  Kohlhaas  drop  a  tear  on  the  letter  he  had  just  re- 
ceived and  opened,  went  up  to  him  in  a  kind  manner,  and  asked  him 
what  misfortune  had  happened ;  and  when  the  horse-dealer,  instead  of 
answering,  put  the  letter  in  his  hand,  this  worthy  man,  to  whom  the 
abominable  wrong,  which  had  been  done  at  the  Tronkenburg,  and 
in  consequence  of  which  Herse  lay  ill  before  him,  perhaps  for  life,  was 
well  known,  slapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  bid  him  not  to  be 
disheartened,  as  he  would  aid  him  to  obtain  justice.  In  the  evening, 
when  the  horse-dealer,  in  compliance  with  his  instructions,  called 
upon  him  at  his  castle,  he  told  him  that  he  need  only  draw  up  a 
petition  to  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  with  a  short  statement  of 
facts,  attach  to  it  the  advocate's  letter,  and  claim  seignorial  protection 
on  account  of  the  violence  he  had  suffered  in  the  Saxon  territory. 
He  promised  to  enclose  the  petition  in  a  packet,  which  lay  ready  at 
hand,  and  thus  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  the  elector,  who  would 
certainly,  on  his  own  account,  apply  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  as  soon 
as  circumstances  permitted.  Such  a  step  was  all  that  was  wanted  to 
obtain  justice  from  the  tribunal  at  Dresden,  in  spite  of  the  tricks  of 
Squire  von  Tronka  and  his  adherents.  Kohlhaas,  highly  delighted, 
thanked  the  governor  most  heartily,  for  this  new  proof  of  kindness, 
told  him  he  was  only  sorry  that  he  had  not  at  once  commenced  pro- 
ceedings at  Berlin,  without  taking  any  steps  at  Dresden,  and  after 
he  had  duly  prepared  the  petition  in  the  secretary's  office,  and  had 
handed  it  over  to  the  governor,  he  returned  to  Kohlhaasenbriick  bet- 
ter satisfied  than  ever  as  to  the  prospects  of  the  affair.  In  a  few  weeks, 
however,  he  had  the  mortification  of  learning,  through  a  judge, 
who  was  going  to  Potsdam,  about  some  affairs  of  the  governor,  that 
the  elector  had  handed  over  the  petition  to  his  chancellor,  Count 
Kallhcim,  and  that  the  latter,  instead  of  going  immediately  to  the 
court  at  Dresden  to  examine  the  matter  and  inflict  punishment,  as 
seemed  to  be  his  duty,  had  first  applied  for  information  to  Squire 
von  Tronka  himself.  The  judge,*  who  stopped  in  his  carriage  before 

*  "  Gerichtsherr"  means  lord  of  the  manor  with  right  of  judicature. 


176  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

Kohlhaas's  doof ,  and  who  seemed  to  have  been  expressly  commis- 
sioned to  make  this  communication,  could  give  no  satisfactory  an- 
swer to  the  question  of  his  surprise:  "  But  why  did  they  act  in  this 
way?"  he  merely  said,  that  the  governor  had  sent  word,  begging 
him  to  be  patient,  appeared  anxious  to  pursue  his  journey,  and  it  was 
not  till  the  end  of  a  short  conversation,  that  Kohlhaas  learned  by  a 
few  stray  words,  that  Count  Kallheim  was  related  by  marriage  to  the 
von  Tronka's.  Kohlhaas,  who  no  longer  took  any  delight  in  attend- 
ing his  horses,  or  in  his  house  and  farm — scarcely  in  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren— waited  the  arrival  of  the  following  month  with  the  gloomiest 
misgivings,  and  it  was  quite  in  accordance  with  his  expectations,  that 
when  the  interval  was  passed,  Herse,  who  had  been  in  some  measure 
relieved  by  the  bath,  returned  from  Brandenburg  with  a  letter  from 
the  governor,  accompanying  a  paper  of  larger  dimensions.  The 
letter  was  to  the  effect  that  the  writer  was  sorry  he  could  do  nothing 
for  him,  but  that  he  sent  him  a  decree  of  the  chancery,  and  advised 
him  to  take  away  the  horses,  which  he  had  left  at  Tronkenburg, 
and  let  the  whole  matter  drop.  According  to  the  decree,  "  he  was 
a  vexatious  litigant,  on  the  information  of  the  tribunal  at  Dresden; 
the  squire  with  whom  he  had  left  the  horses  did  nothing  to  de- 
tain them;  he  might  send  to  the  castle  and  fetch  them,  or  at  any 
rate  let  the  squire  know  where  he  was  to  send  them,  and  at 
•all  events  he  was  to  abstain  from  troubling  the  court  with  such 
wranglings."  Kohlhaas,  to  whom  the  horses  were  not  the  chief 
•object — had  it  been  a  couple  of  dogs  he  would  have  been  equally 
imortified — literally  foamed  with  rage  when  he  had  received  this 
letter.  Whenever  there  was  a  noise  in  his  farm,  he  looked  with  the 
sickening  sensation  which  had  even  stirred  his  heart  towards  the  gate, 
expecting  to  see  the  squire's  servants,  with  his  horses  starved  and 
worn  out ;  this  was  the  only  case  in  which  his  mind,  otherwise  well- 
itrained  by  the  world,  could  find  nothing  that  exactly  corresponded 
"with  his  feelings.  Sliortly  afterwards  he  learned  by  means  of  an  ac- 
quaintance, who  had  travelled  that  way,  that  the  horses  were  still 
used  with  the  squire's  at  Tronkenburg  for  field  labour,  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  pain  at  seeing  the  world  in  such  a  state  of  disorder,  there 
arose  a  feeling  of  inner  contentment  as  he  found  there  was  at  least 
something  like  order  in  his  own  heart.  He  invited  the  proprietor* 
of  the  neighbouring  lands,  who  had  long  entertained  the  notion  of 
increasing  his  possessions  by  purchasing  the  pieces  of  ground  adjoin- 
ing, and  asked  him,  when  he  had  taken  a  seat,  what  he  would  give  him 
for  his  estates  in  Brandenburg  and  Saxony,  taking  house  and  farm 
all  in  the  lump,  with  or  without  fixtures.  His  wife  Lisbeth  turned 
pale  as  she  heard  these  words.  Turning  round  she  took  up  the 
youngest  child,  who  was  sporting  on  the  floor  behind  her,  and  darted 
at  the  horse-dealer,  and  a  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  glances, 
in  which  doubt  was  depicted,  and  which  passed  across  the  red  cheeks 
of  the  boy,  who  was  playing  with  the  ribbons  on  her  neck.  The 

*  "  Amtmann  "  means  here  a  farmer  of  crown-lands. 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  177 

farmer,  who  observed  his  confused  manner,  asked  him  what  had  put 
so  strange  a  thought  all  at  once  into  his  head.  Kohlhaas,  with  as 
much  cheerfulness  as  he  could  assume,  replied  that  the  notion  of 
selling  his  farm  on  the  banks  of  the  Havel  was  not  quite  new,  that 
they  had  both  often  discussed  this  matter  already,  that  his  house  in 
the  suburbs  of  Dresden  was  comparatively  a  mere  appendage,  not  to 
be  considered,  and  finally  that  if  he  would  comply  with  his  offer  and 
take  both  estates,  he  was  quite  ready  to  conclude  the  contract.  He 
added,  with  a  kind  of  forced  levity,  that  Kohlhaasenbriick  was  not 
the  world;  that  there  might  be  purposes,  in  comparison  with  which 
that  of  presiding  over  one's  household,  like  an  orderly  father,  was  tri- 
vial and  subordinate,  and  that  in  short  his  mind,  as  he  was  bound  to  say, 
was  set  upon  great  matters,  of  which  perhaps  the  farmer  would  soon 
hear.  The  farmer  satisfied  with  this  explanation,  said  merrily  to  the 
wife,  who  kissed  her  child  again  and  again:  "  He  won't  want  im- 
mediate payment,  will  he?"  and  then  laying  upon  the  table  the  hat 
and  stick  he  had  hitherto  carried  between  his  knees,  he  took  the 
paper  which  Kohlhaas  had  in  his  hand  to  read  it.  Kohlhaas  moving 
closer  to  him,  explained  that  this  was  a  conditional  contract  which 
he  had  drawn  up,  and  which  would  become  absolute  in  four  weeks ; 
showed  that  nothing  was  required  but  the  signatures  and  the  filling 
in  of  the  two  sums,  namely,  the  purchase-money  and  the  price  of 
redemption,  in  case  he  should  return  within  the  four  weeks,  and  again 
asked  him  in  a  cheerful  tone  to  make  an  offer,  assuring  him  that  he 
would  be  reasonable,  and  would  not  hesitate  about  trifles.  The  wife 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  room,  her  heart  palpitating  to  such  a 
degree  that  her  handkerchief,  at  which  the  child  was  pulling,  seemed 
ready  to  fall  from  her  shoulders.  The  farmer  said  that  he  had  no 
means  of  estimating  the  value  of  the  Dresden  property,  whereupon 
Kohlhaas,  pushing  to  him  the  documents  that  had  been  exchanged 
when  he  had  purchased  it,  replied  that  he  valued  it  at  one  hun- 
dred gold  crowns,  although  it  appeared  clearly  enough  from  the 
documents  themselves,  that  it  cost  him  almost  half  as  much  again. 
The  farmer,  who  read  the  contract  over  once  more,  and  found  that 
on  his  side  also  the  liberty  of  retracting  was  specially  provided,  said, 
already  half  determined,  that  he  could  not  make  use  of  the  stud  that 
was  in  the  stables;  but  when  Kohlhaas  replied  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  part  with  the  horses,  and  that  he  also  wished  to  keep  some  weapons 
that  hung  in  the  gun-room,  he  hemmed  and  hesitated  for  a  while, 
and  at  last  repeated  an  offer  which,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  he 
had  made  in  the  course  of  a  walk,  and  which  was  as  nothing  com- 
pared to  the  value  of  the  property.  Kohlhaas  pushed  pen  and  ink 
towards  him  that  he  might  write,  and  when  the  farmer,  who  could 
not  trust  his  senses,  asked  the  horse-dealer  if  he  was  really  serious, 
and  the  horse-dealer  somewhat  sharply  asked  the  farmer  if  he  thought 
he  could  be  in  jest,  the  latter,  with  a  somewhat  scrupulous  counte- 
nance, took  up  the  pen  and  wrote.  He  struck  out  the  part  relating 
to  the  sum  to  be  paid,  in  case  the  vendor  should  repent  his  bargain, 

N 


178  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

bound  himself  to  a  loan  of  one  hundred  crowns  on  the  security  of  the 
Dresden  property,  which  he  would  on  no  account  consent  to  purchase, 
and  left  Kohlhaas  full  liberty  to  recede  from  his  contract  within  two 
months.  The  horse-dealer,  touched  by  this  handsome  conduct,  shook 
the  farmer's  hand  very  heartily,  and  after  they  had  agreed  on  the 
chief  condition,  which  was  that  a  fourth  of  the  purchase-money  should 
be  paid  in  cash  down,  and  the  rest  at  the  Hamburg  bank  three 
months  afterwards,  he  called  for  wine,  that  they  might  make  merry 
over  a  bargain  so  happily  concluded.  He  told  the  servant-maid,  who 
entered  with  bottles,  that  his  man  Sternbald  was  to  saddle  the 
chesnut  horse,  saying  that  he  must  ride  to  the  city,  where  he  had 
business  to  transact,  and  hinting  that  when  he  returned  he  would 
speak  more  openly  about  that  which  he  must  now  keep  secret.  Then 
filling  the  glasses  he  asked  about  the  Poles  and  the  Turks,  who  were 
then  at  war  with  each  other,  entangled  the  farmer  into  all  sorts  of 
political  conjectures  on  the  subject,  and  finally  took  a  parting  glass 
to  the  success  of  their  bargain,  and  dismissed  him. 

No  sooner  had  the  farmer  left  the  room,  than  Lisbeth  fell  on  her 
knees  before  her  husband.  "  If,"  she  cried,  "  you  still  retain  any 
feeling  for  me,  and  for  the  children  which  I  bore  you ;  if  we  are  not 
already  cast  off — for  what  cause  I  know  not — tell  me  what  is  the 
meaning  of  these  frightful  preparations?" 

"  Nothing,  dearest  wife,  that  can  trouble  you,  as  matters  stand," 
answered  Kohlhaas.  "  I  have  received  a  decree,  in  which  I  am  told 
that  my  proceeding  against  Squire  von  Tronka  is  mere  vexatious 
wrangling;  and  because  there  must  be  some  misunderstanding  in 
this  matter,  I  have  determined  to  commence  my  suit  once  more, 
personally,  with  the  sovereign  of  the  country  himself." 

"  But  why  sell  your  house?"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  rose  from  the 
ground  in  confusion. 

The  horse-dealer,  gently  embracing  her,  replied:  "  Because,  dearest 
Lisbeth,  I  will  not  abide  in  a  country  in  which  my  rights  are  not 
protected.  If  I  am  to  be  trampled  under  foot,  I  would  rather  be  a 
dog  than  a  man.  I  am  certain  that,  on  this  point,  my  wife  thinks 
with  me." 

"  But  how  do  you  know,"  she  asked,  wildly,  "  that  they  will  not 
protect  you  in  your  rights?  If  you  approach  our  sovereign  as  mo- 
destly as  you  ought,  with  your  petition,  how  do  you  know  that  it 
will  be  cast  aside,  or  answered  with  a  refusal  to  hear  you?" 

"  Well  then,"  answered  Kohlhaas,  "  if  my  fear  turns  out  to  be 
groundless,  my  house,  at  any  rate,  is  yet  unsold.  Our  sovereign 
himself,  I  know,  is  just;  and  if  I  can  succeed  in  approaching  his 
person,  through  the  people  who  surround  him,  I  have  no  doubt  I  can 
obtain  my  rights,  and  before  the  week  has  passed,  can  return  gladly 
to  you  and  my  old  business  back  again.  May  I  then,"  he  added, 
as  he  kissed  her,  "  remain  with  you  till  the  end  of  my  life !  How- 
ever," he  continued,  "  it  is  advisable  that  I  should  be  prepared  for 
every  event,  and  hence  I  wish  you  to  leave  this  place  for  a  time,  if 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  179 

possible,  and  to  go,  with  your  children,  to  your  aunt  at  Schwerin, 
whom  you  have  been  long  anxious  to  visit?" 

"  How,"  cried  the  wife.  "  I  go  to  Schwerin? — I  cross  the  border 
with  my  children,  to  go  to  my  aunt  at  Schwerin?"  And  her  voice 
was  stifled  with  horror. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Kohlhaas,  "  and,  if  possible,  immediately, 
that  I  may  not  be  impeded  in  the  steps  I  am  about  to  take  in  this 
matter." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  you,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  want  nothing 
but  weapons  and  horses ;  the  rest  any  one  may  take  who  will."  And 
so  saying,  she  threw  herself  down  upon  a  seat  and  wept. 

Kohlhaas,  much  perplexed,  said:  "  Dearest  Lisbeth,  what  are  you 
doing?  God  has  blessed  me  with  wife,  children,  and  property; 
shall  I  wish,  for  the  first  time,  that  it  was  otherwise?"  And  he  sat 
down  by  her  in  a  kindly  mood,  while  she,  at  these  words,  fell  blush- 
ing on  his  neck.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  moving  the  curls  from  her 
forehead,  "what  I  am  to  do?  Shall  I  give  up  my  cause?  Shall  I 
go  to  Tronkenburg,  and  ask  the  knight  for  my  horses,  mount  them, 
and  then  ride  home  to  you?" 

Lisbeth  did  not  venture  to  answer  "  Yes;"  she  shook  her  head, 
weeping,  clasped  him  fervently,  and  covered  his  breast  with  burning 
kisses. 

"  Good !"  cried  Kohlhaas.  "  Then,  if  you  feel  that  I  must  have 
justice,  if  I  am  to  carry  on  my  business,  grant  me  the  liberty  which 
is  necessary  to  attain  it."  Upon  this  he  rose  up,  and  said  to  the 
servant,  who  told  him  that  his  chestnut  horse  was  saddled,  that  the 
horses  must  be  put  in  harness  the  following  day,  to  take  his  wife  to 
Schwerin.  Suddenly  Lisbeth  saying  that  a  thought  had  struck  her, 
taised  herself,  wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  asked  him,  as  he 
sat  down  at  a  desk,  whether  he  could  not  give  her  the  petition,  and  let 
her  go  to  Dresden  instead  of  him,  to  present  it  to  the  sovereign. 

Kohlhaas,  struck  by  this  sudden  turn,  for  more  reasons  than  one, 
drew  her  to  him,  and  said:  "  Dearest  wife,  that  is  impossible !    The 
sovereign  is  surrounded  by  many  obstacles,  and  to  many  annoyances 
|  is  the  person  exposed  who  ventures  to  approach  him." 

Lisbeth  replied  that  the  approach  would  be  a  thousand  times 
easier  for  a  woman  than  for  a  man.  "  Give  me  the  petition/3  she 
repeated;  "  and  if  you  wish  nothing  more  than  to  know  that  it  is  in 
his  hands,  I  will  vouch  for  it." 

Kohlhaas,  who  had  frequently  known  instances  of  her  courage  as 
well  as  of  her  prudence,  asked  her  how  she  intended  to  set  about  it. 
Upon  which  she  told  him,  hanging  down  her  head  abashed,  that 
the  castellan  of  the  electoral  castle  had  formerly  courted  her,  when 
she  served  at  Schwerin ;  that  it  was  true  he  was  now  married,  and 
many  children,  but  that  she  might  still  not  be  quite  forgotten — 
in  short,  she  asked  him  leave  to  take  advantage  of  this  and  other 
umstances,  which  it  would  be  superfluous  to  name.  Kohlhaas 
her  right  joyously,  told  her  that  he  accepted  her  proposition, 
N2 


180  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

and  that  nothing  more  was  wanted  than  for  her  to  stay  with  the 
castellan's  wife,  to  secure  an  interview  with  the  sovereign,  gave  her 
the  petition,  had  the  brown  horses  harnessed,  and  sent  her  off,  safely 
stowed  under  the  care  of  his  faithful  servant,  Sternbald. 

Of  all  the  unsuccessful  steps  which  he  had  taken  in  the  affair  this 
journey  proved  the  most  unlucky.     For,  in  a  few  days,,  Sternbald 
returned  to  the  farm,  leading  slowly  along  the  vehicle  in  which  Lis- 
beth  lay  stretched,  with  a  dangerous  bruise  on  her  breast.     Kohlhaas, 
who  approached  it  pale  and  terrified,  could  learn  nothing  connected 
as  to  the  cause  of  this  calamity.     The  castellan,  according  to  the 
servant's  account,  had  not  been  at  home,  they  had,  therefore,  been 
obliged  to  put  up  at  an  inn  in  the  vicinity  of  the  castle;  this  inn 
Lisbeth  had  left  on  the  following  morning,  and  had  told  the  man  to 
remain  with  the  horses ;  it  was  not  till  the  evening  that  she  returned, 
in  the  condition  in  which  she  was  seen.     It  appeared  that  she  had 
pressed  forward  too  boldly  towards  the  sovereign,  and  that,  without 
any  fault  on  his  part,  she  had  received  a  blow  on  the  breast,  from 
the  shaft  of  a  lance,  through  the  rude  zeal  of  one  of  the  guards  who 
surrounded  him.     At  least  so  said  the  people  who,  in  the  evening, 
brought  her  to  the  inn  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  for  she  herself  could 
speak  but  little,  being  prevented  by  the  blood  that  flowed  from  her 
mouth.     The  petition  was  afterwards  taken  from  her  by  a  knight. 
Sternbald  said  that  he  had  wished  immediately  to  set  out  on  horse- 
back and  inform  his  master  of  the  misfortune  that  had  happened,  but 
that,  in  spite  of  all  the  representations  of  the  surgeon  who  had  been 
called,  she  had  insisted  on  being  conveyed  to  her  husband  at  Kohl- 
haasenbruck.     The  journey  had  quite  exhausted  her,  and  Kohlhaas 
put  her  in  a  bed,  where  she  laid  some  days  striving  with  difficulty 
to  draw  her  breath.     Vain  were  all  endeavours  to  restore  her  to  con- 
sciousness, that  she  might  throw  some  light  on  the  events;  she  lay 
with  her  eyes  fixed,  and  already  glazed,  and  returned  no  answer. 
Only  once,  just  before  her  death  did  she  recover  her  senses.     For, 
as  a  minister  of  the  Lutheran  religion  (to  which  newly  springing 
faith  she  had  attached  herself,  through  the  example  of  her  husband) 
was  standing  at  her  bed-side,  and  with  a  loud  and  solemn  voice  was 
reading  to  her  a  chapter  out  of  the  bible,  she  looked  at  him  sud- 
denly, with  a  dark  expression,  took  the  bible  out  of  his  hand,  as  if 
there  were  nothing  in  it  to  be  read  to  her,  turned  the  leaves  over 
and  over,  as  if  she  were  looking  for  something,  and  at  last  pointed 
out  to  Kohlhaas,  who  sat  by  the  bed,  the  verse:   "Forgive  thine 
enemies — do  good  unto  them  that  hate  thee !"    She  then  pressed  his 
hand,  with  a  most  significant  glance,  and  expired.     "  May  God 
never  forgive  me  as  I  forgive  the  squire,"  thought  Kohlhaas — and 
he  kissed  her,  while  his  tears  were  flowing  fast,  closed  her  eyes  and 
rushed  out  of  the  room.     The  hundred  golden  crowns,  which  the 
farmer  had  already  advanced  him  on  the  Dresden  stables  he  took, 
and  bespoke  a  funeral  which  seemed  less  fitted  for  Lisbeth  than  for 
a  princess.     The  coffin  was  of  oak,  strongly  cased  with  metal, 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  181 

cushions  were  of  silk  witli  gold  and  silver  tassels,  and  the  grave,  which 
was  eight  ells  deep,  was  lined  with  stones  and  lime.     He  himself, 
with  his  youngest  child  in  his  arms,  stood  by  the  grave,  and  watched 
the  progress  of  the  work.     When  the  day  of  burial  came  the  corpse 
was  laid  out,  as  white  as  snow,  in  a  room,  which  he  had  lined  with 
black  cloth.     The  minister  had  just  finished  a  touching  discourse  by 
the  bier,  when  the  sovereign's  decree  in  answer  to  the  petition,  which 
the  deceased  had  presented,  was  put  in  the  hands  of  Kohlhaas.     The 
purport  was,  that  he  should  fetch  the  horses  from  the  Tronkenburg, 
and  make  no  further  applications  in  this  matter  under  pain  of  im- 
prisonment.    Kohlhaas  put  up  the  letter,  and  ordered  the  coffin  to 
be  placed  on  the  bier.     As  soon  as  the  mound  was  raised,  the  cross 
was  set  upon  it,  and  the  guests,  who  had  assisted  at  the  funeral  had 
been  dismissed,  he  threw  himself  down  once  more  before  his  wife's 
deserted  bed,  and  then  commenced  the  work  of  revenge.     Taking  a 
seat,  he  drew  up  a  decree,  in  which,  by  virtue  of  his  innate  power, 
he  condemned  the  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka,  within  three  days 
after  the  sight  thereof,  to  bring  back  to  Kohlhaasenbriick  the  horses 
which  he  had  taken,  and  which  he  had  spoiled  by  field-work,  and 
to  feed  them  in  person  in  his  stables  until  they  were  restored  to  their 
good  condition.     This  paper  he  conveyed  by  a  messenger  on  horse- 
back, whom  he  instructed  to  return  to  Kohlhaasenbriick  immediately 
after  he  had  delivered  it.     The  three  days  having  passed  and  no 
horses  having  been  delivered,  he  called  Herse  to  him,  informed  him 
of  the  notice  he  had  given  to  the  squire  concerning  the  feeding,  and 
asked  him  which  of  two  things  he  would  do :  whether  he  would  go 
with  him  to  the  Tronkenburg  and  fetch  the  squire,  or  whether,  when 
he  was  brought  him,  he  would  hold  the  whip  over  him,  in  case  he 
should  prove  lazy  in  obeying  the  decree  in  the  Kohlhaasenbriick 
stables.     Herse  shouted  out,  "  Let  us  begin  to-day,  master,"  and 
flinging  his  cap  into  the  air  swore  that  he  would  have  a  thong  twisted 
into  ten  knots  to  teach  the  art  of  currying.     Kohlhaas  sold  his  house, 
sent  his  children  in  a  vehicle  over  the  border,  called,  in  addition  to 
Herse,  the  rest  of  his  servants,  seven  in  number,  and  all  as  true  as 
steel,  at  the  approach  of  night,  armed  them,  mounted  them,  and  set 
off  for  the  Tronkenburg. 

The  third  night  was  advancing,  when  with  his  little  band,  riding 
over  the  toll- taker  and  the  gate-keeper,  who  stood  conversing  by 
the  gate,  he  fell  upon  the  Tronkenburg.  While,  amid  the  crackling 
of  the  outbuildings,  which  the  men  set  on  fire,  Herse  flew  up 
the  winding  staircase  to  the  castellan's  tower,  and  cut  and  thrust  at 
the  castellan  and  the  bailiff,  who  were  at  play,  half  undressed. 
Kohlhaas  rushed  into  the  castle  to  find  Squire  Wenzel.  So  does 
the  angel  of  judgment  descend  from  Heaven,  and  the  squire,  who, 
amid  peals  of  laughter,  was  reading  to  a  party  of  young  friends,  the 
decree,  which  the  horse-dealer  had  sent  him,  no  sooner  heard  his 
voice  in  the  yard,  than  he  cried  to  the  rest,  pale  as  death,  "  Save 
yourselves,  brothers !"  and  vanished  immediately.  Kohlhaas,  who, 


182  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

on  entering  the  hall,  seized  by  the  breast  and  flung  into  the  corner, 
one  Squire  Hans  von  Tronka,  who  was  advancing  towards  him,  so 
that  his  brains  were  scattered  on  the  stones,  asked,  while  his  servants 
overpowered  and  dispersed  the  other  knights,  who  had  taken  up 
their  weapons:  "  Where  is  Squire  von  Tronka?"  And  when,  as  the 
astounded  knights  professed  their  ignorance,  he  had,  with  a  blow  of 
his  foot,  burst  open  the  doors  of  two  rooms,  which  led  into  the 
wings  of  the  castle,  and  after  searching  the  spacious  building  in  all 
directions,  still  found  nobody,  he  went,  cursing  down  into  the  yard, 
that  he  might  guard  every  egress.     In  the  meanwhile,  ignited  by 
the  flames  of  the  outbuildings,  the  castle  itself,  with  all  its  wings, 
took  fire,  and  threw  volumes  of  black  smoke  to  the  skies,  and  while 
Sternbald,  with  three  active  fellows,  dragged  together  all  they  could 
lay  hold  of,  and  flung  it  upon  their  horses  as  lawful  prize,  the  dead 
bodies  of  the  castellan  and  the  bailiff,  with  their  wives  and  children, 
flew  out  of  the  upper  window,  accompanied  by  the  shouts  of  Herse. 
Kohlhaas,  at  whose  feet,  as  he  descended  the  stairs,  the  squire's 
gouty  old  housekeeper  threw  herself,  asked  her,  as  he  paused  on  one 
of  the  steps:  "  Where  is  Squire  von  Tronka?"  When,  with  a  weak 
trembling  voice,  she  answered,  that  she  thought  he  had  fled  to  the 
chapel;  he  called  for  two  servants  with  torches,  broke  open  an  en- 
trance with  crow-bars  and  hatchets,  for  want  of  a  key,  and  turned  up- 
side down  the  altars  and  benches.     Still  no  squire  was  found,  to  the 
great  grief  of  Kohlhaas.     It  happened,  just  as  he  was  leaving  the 
chapel,  that  a  boy — one  of  the  servants  at  the  Tronkenburg — hur- 
ried by  to  take  the  squire's  coursers  out  of  a  large  stone  stall,  that 
was  threatened  by  the  flames.     Kohlhaas,  who  at  this  moment  saw 
his  own  two  black  horses  in  a  little  thatched  shed,  asked  the  boy, 
why  he  did  not  save  them,  and  when  the  latter,  as  he  put  the  key 
in  the  stable-door,  answered  that  the  shed  was  already  in  flames,  he 
tore  the  key  out  of  the  door,  flung  it  over  the  wall,  and  driving  the 
boy  with  a  shower  of  blows  from  the  flat  of  his  sword,  into  the 
blazing  shed,  compelled  him  to  save  the  horses  amid  the  frightful 
laughter  of  the  bystanders.     When,  in  a  few  moments,  the  boy, 
pale  as  death,  came  with  the  horses  out  of  the  shed  that  fell  behind 
him,  Kohlhaas  was  no  longer  there,  and  when  he  joined  the  servants 
in  the  yard,  and  then  asked  the  horse-dealer  what  he  was  to  do  with 
the  animals,  Kohlhaas  raised  his  foot  witli  such  violence,  that  it  would 
have  been  fatal  had  it  reached  him,  leaped  upon  his  brown  horse 
without  giving  any  answer,  went  under  the  castle-gate,  and  while 
his  men  carried  on  their  work,   quietly  awaited  the  dawn  of  day. 
When  morning  broke,  the  whole  castle  was  burned,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  bare  walls,  and  no  one  was  on  the  spot  but  Kohlhaas 
and  his  men.     He  alighted  from  his  horse  once  more  in  the  bright 
rays  of  the  sun,  searched  every  corner  of  the  place,  and  when,  hard 
as  it  was  to  be  convinced,  he  saw  that  his  enterprise  at  the  castle 
had  failed,  his  heart  swelling  with  grief  and  pain,  he  sent  out  Herse 
with  some  of  the  others  to  obtain  intelligence  about  the  direction 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  183 

which  the  squire  had  taken  in  flight.  A  rich  convent,  called  Erla- 
brunn,  which  was  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Mulde,  and  the 
abbess  of  which,  Antonia  von  Tronka,  was  well  known  on  the  spot 
as  a  pious  and  benevolent  lady,  rendered  him  particularly  uneasy, 
for  it  seemed  to  him  but  too  probable  that  the  squire,  deprived  as 
he  was  of  every  necessary  of  life,  had  taken  refuge  in  this  asylum, 
since  the  abbess  was  his  aunt,  and  had  educated  him  in  his  earliest 
years.  Kohlhaas  being  informed  of  this  circumstance,  ascended  the 
castellan's  tower,  within  which  he  found  a  room  that  was  still  habit- 
able, and  prepared  what  he  called  "  Kohlhaasisch  Mandate,"  in 
which  he  desired  the  whole  country  to  give  no  assistance  whatever 
to  Squire  von  Tronka,  with  whom  he  was  engaged  in  lawful  war, 
and  bound  every  inhabitant,  not  excepting  his  friends  and  relations, 
to  deliver  up  to  him  the  aforesaid  squire,  under  the  penalty  of  life 
and  limb,  and  conflagration  of  all  that  could  be  called  property. 
This  declaration  he  distributed  through  the  country  round,  by 
means  of  travellers  and  strangers.  To  his  servant,  W  aldmann,  he 
gave  a  copy  with  the  special  charge  that  it  was  to  be  put  into  the 
hands  of  the  Lady  Antonia  at  Erlabrunn.  He  afterwards  gained  over 
some  of  the  Tronkenburg  servants,  who  were  discontented  with  the 
squire,  and  tempted  by  the  prospect  of  booty,  wished  to  enter  his 
service.  These  he  armed  after  the  fashion  of  infantry  with  daggers 
and  cross-bars,  teaching  them  to  sit  behind  the  servants  on  horse- 
back. After  having  turned  into  money  all  that  the  troops  had 
raked  together,  and  divided  the  money  among  them,  he  rested  from 
his  sad  occupation  for  some  hours,  under  the  gate  of  the  castle. 

Herse  returned  about  noon,  and  confirmed  the  gloomy  suspicions, 
which  he  had  already  felt  in  his  heart,  namely,  that  the  squire  was 
in  the  convent  at  Erlabrunn,  with  his  aunt,  the  lady  Antonia  von 
Tronka.  He  had,  it  appeared,  slipped  through  a  door  at  the  back 
of  the  castle,  which  led  into  the  open  air,  and  gone  down  a  narrow 
flight  of  stone  steps,  which,  under  a  little  roof,  went  down  to  some 
boats  in  the  Elbe.  At  least  Herse  told  him  that  about  midnight  he 
reached  a  village  on  the  Elbe  in  a  boat  without  a  rudder,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  people,  who  were  collected  together  on  account 
of  the  fire  at  the  Tronkenburg,  and  that  he  had  proceeded  to 
Eilabrunn  in  a  waggon.  Kohlhaas  sighed  deeply  at  this  intelli- 
gence ;  he  asked  whether  the  horses  had  had  their  feed,  and  when 
his  men  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  ordered  the  whole  troop  to 
mount,  and  in  three  hours  was  before  Erlabrunn.  While  a  distant 
storm  was  murmuring  in  the  horizon,  he  entered  the  convent  yard 
with  his  band,  lighted  by  torches,  which  he  had  kindled  before  the 
place.  The  servant,  Waldmann,  who  met  him,  told  him  that  he 
had  given  the  copy  of  the  mandate,  when  he  saw  the  abbess  and 
the  beadle  of  the  convent  talking  in  an  agitated  manner  beneath 
the  portal.  The  latter,  a  little  old  man,  with  hair  as  white  as 
snow,  darting  fierce  glances  at  Kohlhaas,  ordered  his  armour  to  be 
put  on,  and  with  a  bold  voice  told  the  servants  who  stood  round  him 
to  ring  the  alarm  bell,  while  the  abbess  with  a  silver  crucifix  in  her 


184  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

hand,  descended,  white  as  her  own  garment,  from  the  landing-place, 
and  with  all  her  maidens,  threw  herself  before  Kohlhaas's  horses. 
Kohlhaas,  himself,  while  Herse  and  Sternbald  overcame  the  beadle, 
who  had  no  sword,  and  were  leading  him  off  away  to  the  horses  as 
a  prisoner,  asked  her :  "  Where  is  Squire  von  Tronka  ?"  When, 
drawing  from  her  girdle  a  large  bunch  of  keys,  she  answered  :  "  At 
Wittenberg,  worthy  man,"  and  in  a  trembling  voice,  added  :  "  Fear 
God,  and  do  no  wrong,"  the  horse-dealer,  cast  back  into  the  hell  of 
disappointed  revenge,  turned  about  his  horse,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  shouting  out :  "  Set  alight !"  when  a  monstrous  thunder-bolt  fell 
to  the  earth  at  his  feet.  Kohlhaas,  again  turning  his  horse  to  her, 
asked  if  she  had  received  his  mandate,  and  when  with  a  weak  and 
scarcely  audible  voice,  she  said  :  "  Only  just  now,  about  two  hours  after 
my  nephew  had  departed," — and  Waldmann,  on  whom  Kohlhaas 
cast  suspicious  glances,  stammered  out  a  confirmation  of  the  state- 
ment, saying,  that  the  water  of  the  Mulde  had  been  swelled  by 
the  rain,  and  had  hindered  him  from  arriving  sooner,  he  collected 
himself.  A  sudden  fall  of  rain,  which  extinguished  the  torches,  and 
rattled  on  the  stones,  seemed  to  ease  the  anguish  of  his  wretched 
heart  ;  he  once  more  turned  round,  touching  his  hat  to  the  lady, 
and  crying  out :  "  Brothers,  follow  me, — the  Squire  is  in  Witten- 
berg," clapped  spurs  to  his  horse  and  left  the  convent. 

At  nightfall  he  put  up  at  an  inn  on  the  road,  where  he  had  to  rest 
a  day  on  account  of  the  great  fatigue  of  his  horses,  and  as  he  plainly 
saw,  that  with  a  troop  of  ten  men  (such  was  his  force  now),  he  could 
not  attack  a  place  like  Wittenberg,  he  drew  up  a  second  mandate, 
in  which,  after  strictly  narrating  what  had  happened  to  him,  he  called, 
to  use  his  own  words,  "  Upon  every  good  Christian  to  espouse  his 
cause  against  Squire  von  Tronka,  the  common  enemy  of  all  Chris- 
tians, with  the  promise  of  a  sum  of  money  down,  and  other  ad- 
vantages of  war."  In  a  third  mandate  he  called  himself  a  "  So- 
vereign, free  from  the  empire  and  the  world,  subject  to  God  alone;" 
a  morbid  and  disgusting  piece  of  fanaticism,  which  nevertheless  ac- 
companied as  it  was  with  the  chink  of  money  and  the  hope  of  prey, 
procured  an  accession  to  his  numbers  from  the  rabble,  whom  the 
peace  with  Poland  had  deprived  of  a  livelihood.  Indeed  his  band 
amounted  to  upwards  of  thirty,  when  he  turned  back  to  the  left 
bank  of  the  Elbe  to  lay  Wittenberg  in  ashes.  With  his  men  and 
horses  he  took  shelter  under  the  roof  of  an  old  ruined  shed  in  the 
depth  of  a  gloomy  wood,  that  in  those  days  surrounded  the  place,  and 
he  no  sooner  learned  from  Sternbald,  that  the  mandate,  with  which 
he  had  sent  him  into  the  town  disguised,  had  been  made  known, 
than  lie  set  off  with  his  band — it  was  Whitsun  eve, — and  while  the 
inhabitants  lay  fast  asleep,  set  a-light  to  the  place  at  many  corners. 
He  then,  with  his  men,  plundered  the  suburbs,  affixed  a  paper  to  the 
door-post  of  a  church,  in  which  he  said  that  "  He,  Kohlhaas,  had 
set  the  city  on  fire,  and  that  ii'the  squire  was  not  given  up  to  him, 
he  would  lay  it  in  ashes  m  such  sort,  that  he  would  not  have  to  look 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  185 

behind  a  wall  to  find  him."     The  terror  of  the  inhabitants  at  this  un- 
paralleled atrocity  was  indescribable,  and  the  flames,  which  in  a  par- 
ticularly calm  summer's  night,  had  not  consumed  more  than  nine- 
teen houses,  including  a  church,  being  extinguished  in  some  measure 
about  day-break,  the  old  governor(Landvoigt),  Otto  von  Gorgas,  sent 
out  a  company  of  about  fifty  men,  to  capture  the  fearful  invader.  The 
captain  9!'  this  company,  whose  name  was  Gerstenberg,  managed  so 
badly,  that  the  expedition,  instead  of  defeating  Kohlhaas,  rather 
helped  him  to  a  very  dangerous  military  reputation;  for  while  he 
separated  his  men  into  several  divisions,  that  he  might,  as  he  thought, 
surround  and  curb  Kohlhaas,  he  was  attacked  by  the  latter,  who 
kept  his  men  close  together  at  the  different  isolated  points,  and  was 
so  beaten,  that  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day,  not  a  single 
man  of  the  whole  band  was  left  to  face  the  aggressor,  although  on  that 
band  rested  all  the  hopes  of  the  country.     Kohlhaas,  who  had  lost 
none  of  his  own  men  in  the  encounter,  fired  the  town  anew  on  the 
following  morning,  and  his  criminal  plans  were  so  well  laid  that  a 
number  of  houses,  and  nearly  all  the  barns  of  the  suburbs  were  re- 
duced to  ashes.     He  then  again  posted  up  his  decree,   and  that  in 
the  corners  of  the  town-house,  adding  an  account  of  the  fate  of  Cap- 
tain von  Gerstenberg,  whom  the  governor  had  sent  out  against  him, 
and  whom  he  had  demolished.     The  governor,  greatly  enraged  at 
this  defiance,  placed  himself  with  several  knights  at  the  head  of  a 
band  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  men.     To  Squire  von  Tronka,  who  had 
sent  him  a  written  petition,  he  gave  a  guard,  to  protect  him  from 
the  violence  of  the  people,  who  wished  him  to  be  turned  out  of  the 
city  without  more  ado,  and  after  he  had  posted  guards  in  all  the 
villages  around,  and  also  had  garrisoned  the  walls  of  the  city  to  de- 
fend it  from  a  surprise,  he  set  out  on  St.  Gervas's  day,  to  capture 
the  dragon  that  was  thus  laying  waste  the  country.  The  horse-dealer 
was  cunning  enough  to  avoid  this  troop,  and  after  he  had,  by  his 
clever  retreats,  lured  away  the  governor  five  miles  from  the  city,  and 
had  made  him  believe  by  various  preparations  that  if  pressed  by 
numbers  he  would  throw  himself  into  the  Brandenburg  territory,  he 
suddenly  faced  about  at  the  approach  of  the  third  night,  and  gal- 
loping back  to  Wittenberg  for  the  third  time  to  set  it  on  fire.     This 
frightful  act  of  audacity  was  achieved  by  Herse,  who  had  entered  the 
city  disguised,  and  the  conflagration,  through  the  action  of  a  sharp 
north  wind  was  so  destructive,  and  extended  its  ravages  so  far  that 
in  less  than  three  hours,  two-and-forty  houses,  two  churches,  several 
schools  and  convents,  and  the  governor's  residence  were  levelled  with 
the  ground.     The  governor,  who  believed  that  his  adversary  was  in 
Brandenburg,  at  break  of  day,  found  the  city  in  a  general  uproar, 
when  having  been  informed  of  what  had  passed,  he  returned  by 
forced  marches.     The  people  had  assembled  by  thousands  before  the 
house  of  Squire  von  Tronka,  which  was  fortified  with  boards  and  pa- 
lisades, and  with  the  voices  of  maniacs  were  demanding  that  he  should 
be  sent  out  of  the  city.    In  vain  did  two  burgomasters,  named  Jen- 


186  MICHAEL  KOHLIIAAS. 

kens  and  Otto,  who  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  whole  magistracy, 
clad  in  robes  of  office,  show  the  necessity  of  waiting  for  the  return 
of  a  courier  who  had  been  sent  to  the  chancery  to  ask  permission  to 
send  the  squire  to  Dresden,  whither  he  himself,  for  many  reasons, 
wished  to  be  removed;  the  mob,  deaf  to  reason,  and  armed  with 
pikes  and  staves  would  hear  nothing,  and  they  not  only  ill-used  some 
members  of  the  council,  who  were  urging  too  severe  measures,  but 
they  were  on  the  point  of  tearing  down  the  squire's  house,  when  the 
governor,  Otto  von  Gorgas,  appeared  in  the  city  at  the  head  of  his 
troop  of  horse.  This  venerable  nobleman,  whose  presence  alone  had 
usually  awed  the  people  to  respect  and  obedience,  had  succeeded  in 
capturing  three  stragglers  from  the  incendiary's  band  at  the  very  gates 
of  the  city,  as  if  by  way  of  compensation  for  the  failure  of  his  enter- 
prise ;  and  as,  while  these  fellows  were  loaded  with  chains  in  sight  of 
the  people,  he  assured  the  magistrates,  in  a  seasonable  address,  that 
he  thought  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  capture  Kohlhaas  himself,  and  in 
a  short  time  to  bring  him  in,  also  enchained,  he  succeeded  in  dis- 
arming the  rage  of  the  assembled  multitude,  and  in  appeasing  them, 
in  some  measure,  as  to  the  squire's  remaining  among  them,  till  the 
return  of  the  courier  from  Dresden.  He  alighted  from  horseback, 
and  with  some  of  his  knights,  the  palisades  being  removed,  he  en- 
tered the  house,  where  he  found  the  squire,  who  was  continually 
fainting,  in  the  hands  of  two  phvsieians,  who,  by  the  aid  of  essences 
and  stimulants,  were  endeavouring  to  restore  him  to  consciousness. 
Herr  Otto  von  Gorgas,  feeling  that  this  was  not  the  moment 
to  bandy  words  with  the  squire  about  his  bad  conduct,  merely 
told  him,  with  a  look  of  silent  contempt,  to  dress  himself,  and  for 
his  own  security,  to  follow  him  to  apartments  in  the  prison.  When 
they  had  put  him  on  a  doublet,  and  set  a  helmet  on  his  head, 
and  he  appeared  in  the  street  with  his  breast  half  open  for  want 
of  air,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  governor  and  his  brother-in-law, 
Count  von  Gerschau,  the  most  frightful  imprecations  ascended  to 
the  skies.  The  mob,  kept  back  with  difficulty  by  the  soldiers,  called 
him  a  blood-sucker,  a  miserable  pest  to  the  country,  the  curse  of 
the  city  of  Wittenberg,  and  the  destruction  of  Saxony.  After  a 
melancholy  procession  through  the  ruins,  during  which  the  squire 
often  let  the  helmet  drop  from  his  head  without  missing  it,  and  a 
knight  as  often  set  it  on  again  from  behind  him,  he  reached  the 
prison,  and  vanished  into  a  town  under  the  protection  of  a  strong 
guard.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  city  was  thrown  into  new  alarm  by 
the  return  of  the  courier  with  the  electoral  decree.  For  the  govern- 
ment, having  listened  to  the  applications  of  the  citizens  of  Dresden, 
would  not  hear  of  the  squire  taking  up  his  abode  in  this  the  chief 
city,  till  the  incendiary  was  conquered;  but  charged  the  governor  to 
protect  him,  wherever  he  might  be,  and  remember  he  must  be  content 
with  such  forces  as  he  had.  He,  however,  informed  the  good  city  of 
Wittenberg,  to  allay  uneasiness,  that  a  troop  of  five  hundred  strong, 
under  the  command  of  Prince  Frederic,  of  Misnia,  was  advancing 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  187 

to  protect  it  from  further  molestations  by  Kolilhaas.    The  governor 
plainly  saw  that  a  decree  of  this  kind  would  by  no  means  satisfy  the 
people,  since  not  only  had  the  many  little  advantages  which  the 
horse-dealer  had  gained  at  different  points  before  the  city,  caused 
most  alarming  reports  to  be  spread  as  to  his  increase  of  strength,  but 
the  war  which  he  carried  on  in  the  darkness  of  night,  with  pitch, 
straw,  and  brimstone,  aided  by  a  rabble  in  disguise,  might,  unex- 
ampled as  it  was,  completely  frustrate  a  greater  protective  force 
than  that  which  was  coming  with  the  Prince  of  Misnia.     Therefore, 
after  a  short  reflection,  the  governor  resolved  to  suppress  the  decree. 
He  merely  posted  up  against  the  corners  of  the  city,  a  letter,  in 
which  the  Prince  of  Misnia  announced  his  arrival.      A  covered 
cart,  which  left  the  prison-yard  at  break  of  day,  accompanied  by 
four  guards  on  horse-back,  heavily  armed,  passed  along  the  street  to 
Leipzig,  the  guards  causing  it  to  be  vaguely  reported  that  it  was 
going  to  the  Pleissenburg.      The  people  being  thus  appeased  as 
to  the  ill-fated  squire,  to  whose  presence  fire  and  sword  were  bound, 
the  governor  himself  set  off  with  a  troop  of  three  hundred  men, 
to  join  Prince  Frederic  of  Misnia.     In  the  meanwhile,  Kohlhaas, 
by  the  singular  position  he  had  taken  in  the  world,  had  increased 
his  force  to  a  hundred  and  ten  persons ;  and  as  he  had  procured  a 
good  store  of  arms  at  Jessen,  and  had  armed  his  band  in  the  most 
perfect  manner,  he  was  no  sooner  informed  of  the  double  storm,  than 
he  resolved  to  meet  it  with  all  possible  speed,  before  it  should  break 
over  him.  Therefore,  on  the  following  night  he  attacked  the  Prince 
of  Misnia,  by  Muhlberg,  in  which  encounter,  to  his  great  grief,  he 
lost  Herse,  who  fell  by  his  side  on  the  first  fire.     However,  enraged 
at  this  loss,  he  so  defeated  the  prince,  who  was  unable  to  collect 
his  force  together,  in  a  three  hours  contest,  that  at  break  of  day,  on 
account  of  several  wounds,  and  likewise  of  the  total  disorder  of  his 
men,  he  was  forced  to  retreat  to  Dresden,     Emboldened  by  this  ad- 
vantage Kohlhaas  turned  back  upon  the  governor,  before  he  could 
have  received  intelligence  of  the  event,  fell  upon  him  in  an  op^en  field 
near  the  village  of  Damerow  in  broad  daylight,  and  fought  with  fury 
till  nightfall,  suffering  terrible  loss,  but  still  with  equal  advantage. 
The  next  morning  unquestionably,  with  the  remainder  of  his  force, 
he  would  have  again  attacked  the  governor,  who  had  thrown  himself 
into  the  church-yard  at  Damerow,  if  the  latter  had  not  been  informed  of 
the  prince's  defeat  by  Miihlberg,  and  therefore  held  it  advisable  once 
more  to  return  to  Wittenberg,  and  await  a  better  opportunity.     Five 
days  after  the  dispersion  of  these  two  forces,  Kohlhaas  was  before 
Leipzig,  and  fired  the  city  on  three  sides.     In  the  mandate  which 
he  distributed  on  this  occasion  he  called  himself,  "  Vicegerent  of 
Michael  the  Archangel  who  had  come  to  avenge,  with  fire  and  sword, 
the  villany  into  which  the  whole  world  had  fallen,  on  all  who 
had  taken  the  squire's  part  in  this  struggle."     At  the  same  time 
from  the  Hitzen  Castle,  of  which  he  had  taken  possession,  and 
in  which  he  had  established  himself,  he  called  upon  the  people  to 


188  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

join  him,  and  bring  about  a  better  order  of  things.  The  mandate 
was  signed,  as  if  by  a  sort  of  madness  :  "  Given  at  the  suit  of  our 
provisional  world-government, — the  Castle  of  Liitzen."  Fortunately 
for  the  inhabitants  of  Leipzig,  the  fire  did  not  catch  on  account 
of  the  continual  rain,  and  moreover  the  means  of  extinguishing  being 
used  with  great  promptness,  only  a  few  shops  about  the  Pleissen- 
burg  burst  into  flames.  Nevertheless  the  alarm  of  the  city  at  the 
presence  of  the  violent  incendiary,  and  his  notion  that  the  squire 
was  at  Leipzig,  was  indescribable ;  and  when  a  body  of  a  hundred 
and  eighty  troopers,  who  had  been  sent  out  against  him,  returned 
to  the  city  in  confusion,  the  magistracy,  who  did  not  wish  to  endan- 
ger the  property  of  the  place,  had  no  other  course  left  them  but  to 
close  the  gates,  and  set  the  citizens  to  watch  day  and  night  outside 
the  walls.  In  vain  did  they  post  up  declarations  in  the  surround- 
ing villages,  that  the  squire  was  not  in  the  Pleissenburg ;  the  horse- 
dealer  in  similar  papers  affirmed  the  contrary,  and  declared  that 
even  if  the  squire  was  not  in  the  Pleissenburg,  he  would  neverthe- 
less proceed  just  in  the  same  manner,  until  they  informed  him  where 
he  actually  was.  The  elector,  instructed  by  a  courier  of  the  peril  in 
which  the  city  of  Leipzig  stood,  stated  that  he  was  collecting  a 
force  of  two  thousand  men,  and  that  he  would  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  it,  to  capture  Kohlhaas.  He  severely  reproved  Otto  von 
Gorgas  for  the  indiscreet  stratagem  he  had  employed  to  remove  the 
incendiary  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Wittenberg,  and  no  one  can 
describe  the  alarm  which  arose  in  Saxony  in  general,  and  in  the 
capital  in  particular,  when  the  inhabitants  learned  that  an  unknown 
hand  had  posted  up  in  the  villages  near  Leipzig,  a  declaration  that 
Squire  Wenzel  was  with  his  armies  at  Dresden. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  supported  by  the 
authority  which  he  owed  to  his  position  in  the  world,  took  upon 
himself  by  the  force  of  words  to  call  back  Kohlhaas  into  the  path  of 
order,  and  trusting  to  a  suitable  element  in  the  heart  of  the  incen- 
diary, caused  a  placard,  worded  as  follows,  to  be  set  up  in  all  the 
towns  and  villages  of  the  electorate : 

"  Kohlhaas — thou  who  pretendest  that  thou  art  deputed  to  wield 
the  sword  of  justice,  what  art  thou  doing,  presumptuous  one,  in  the 
madness  of  thy  blind  passion,  thou  who  art  filled  with  injustice 
from  the  crown  of  thy  head  to  the  sole  of  thy  foot?  Because  thy 
sovereign,  whose  subject  thou  art,  hath  refused  thec  justice,  dost 
thou  arise  in  godless  man,  the  cause  of  worldly  good,  with  fire  and 
sword,  and  break  in  like  the  wolf  of  the  desert  upon  the  peaceful 
community  that  he  protecteth.  Thou,  who  misleadest  mankind  by  a 
declaration  full  of  untruth  and  craftiness,  dost  thou  believe,  sinner 
that  thou  art,  the  same  pretext  will  avail  thee  before  God  on  that 
day  when  the  recesses  of  every  heart  shall  be  revealed  ?  How  canst 
thou  say  that  justice  hat! i  been  denied — thou,  whose  savage  heart, 
excited  by  an  evil  spirit  of  self-revenge,  entirely  gave  up  the 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  189 

trouble  of  seeking  it  after  the  failure  of  thy  first  trivial  endeavours? 
Is  a  bench  of  beadles  and  tipstaffs,  who  intercept  letters,  or  keep 
to  themselves  the  knowledge  they  should  communicate,  the  power 
that  ruleth  ?  Must  I  tell  thee,  impious  man,  that  thy  ruler 
knoweth  nothing  of  thy  affair?  What  do  I  say?  Why  that  the 
sovereign  against  whom  thou  rebellest  doth  not  even  know  thy 
name,  and  that  when  thou  appearest  before  the  throne  of  God, 
thinking  to  accuse  him,  he  with  a  serene  countenance  will  say: 
4  Lord  to  this  man  did  I  no  wrong,  for  his  existence  is  strange 
unto  my  soul.'  Know  that  the  sword  that  thou  bearest  is  the  sword 
of  robbery  and  murder;  thou  art  a  rebel  and  no  warrior  of  the  just 
God.  Thine  end  upon  earth  is  the  wheel  and  the  gallows,  and  thine 
end  hereafter  is  that  condemnation  which  threateneth  the  worker 
of  evil  and  impiety. 

"  Wittenberg.  "  MARTIN  LUTHER." 

In  the  Castle  of  Liitzen  Kohlhaas  was  meditating,  in  his  diseased 
mind,  a  new  plan  for  reducing  Leipzig  to  ashes,  paying  no  atten- 
tion to  the  notice  set  up  in  the  villages,  that  Squire  Wenzel  was  in 
Dresden,  because  it  had  no  signature,  though  he  had  required  one  of 
the  magistrates ;  when  Sternbald  and  Waldmann  perceived  with  the 
greatest  astonishment  the  placard  that  had  been  set  up  by  night 
against  the  gateway  of  the  castle.  In  vain  did  they  hope  for  many 
days  that  Kohlhaas,  whom  they  did  not  wish  to  approach  for  the 
purpose,  would  see  it.  Gloomy  and  brooding  in  his  own  thoughts,  he 
merely  appeared  in  the  evening  to  give  a  few  short  commands,  and 
saw  nothing,  and  hence  one  morning,  when  he  was  about  to  hang 
up  two  of  his  men,  who  had  been  plundering  in  the  neighbour- 
hood against  his  will,  they  resolved  to  attract  his  attention.  He  was 
returning  from  the  place  of  judgment,  with  the  pomp  to  which  he 
had  accustomed  himself  since  his  last  mandate,  while  the  people 
timidly  made  way  on  both  sides.  A  large  cherub-sword  on  a  red 
leather  cushion,  adorned  with  gold  tassels  was  carried  before  him, 
and  twelve  servants  followed  him  with  burning  torches.  The  two 
men,  with  their  swords  under  their  arms,  walked  round  the  pillar 
to  which  the  placard  was  attached,  so  as  to  awaken  his  surprise. 
Kohlhaas,  as  with  his  hands  locked  behind  him,  and  sunk  deep  in 
thought,  he  came  under  the  portal,  raised  his  eyes  and  started;  and 
as  the  men  timidly  retired  from  his  glance,  witnessing  the  con- 
fusion, he  approached  the  pillar  with  hurried  steps.  But  who  shall 
describe  the  state  of  his  mind,  when  he  saw  upon  it  the  paper  which 
accused  him  of  injustice,  signed  with  the  dearest  and  most  revered 
name  that  he  knew — the  name  of  Martin  Luther?  A  deep  red 
overspread  his  face;  taking  off  his  helmet  he  read  it  twice  from 
beginning  to  end;  then  with  uncertain  looks  stepped  back  among 
his  men  as  if  about  to  say  something,  and  yet  said  nothing;  then 
took  the  paper  from  the  wall,  read  it  once  more,  and  cried  as  he 
disappeared:  "  Waldmann  get  my  horses  saddled,  Sternbald  follow 


190  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

me  into  the  castle !"  More  than  these  few  words  was  not  wanted 
to  disarm  him  at  once  among  all  his  purposes  of  distinction. 

He  put  on  the  disguise  of  a  Thuringian  farmer,  told  Stembald 
that  business  of  importance  called  him  to  Wittenberg,  entrusted 
him,  in  the  presence  of  some  of  his  principal  men,  with  the  com- 
mand of  the  band  left  at  Liitzen,  and  promising  to  return  in  three 
days,  within  which  time  no  attack  was  to  be  feared,  set  off  to  Wit- 
tenberg at  once. 

He  put  up  at  an  inn  under  a  feigned  name,  and  at  the  approach 
of  night,  wrapped  in  his  mantle,  and  provided  with  a  brace  of  pistols 
which  he  had  seized  at  the  Tronkenburg,  walked  into  Luther's 
apartment.  Luther  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  occupied  with  his  books 
and  papers,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  remarkable  looking  stranger 
open  the  door,  and  then  bolt  it  behind  him,  he  asked  who  he  was 
and  what  he  wanted.  The  man,  reverentially  holding  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  had  no  sooner  answered,  with  some  misgiving  as  to  the  alarm 
he  might  occasion,  that  he  was  Michael  Kohlhaas,  the  horse-dealer, 
than  Luther  cried  out,  "  Away  with  thee,"  and  added,  as  he  rose 
from  his  desk  to  ring  the  bell:  "  Thy  breath  is  pestiferous,  and  thy 
appoach  is  destruction !" 

Kohlhaas,  without  stirring  from  the  spot  said:  "  Reverend  sir,  this 
pistol,  if  you  touch  the  bell,  lays  me  a  corpse  at  your  feet.  Sit  down 
and  hear  me.  Among  the  angels,  whose  psalms  you  write,  you  are 
not  safer  than  with  me." 

"  But  what  dost  thou  want?"  asked  Luther,  sitting  down. 

"  To  refute  your  opinion  that  I  am  an  unjust  man,"  replied 
Kohlhaas.  "  You  have  said  in  your  placard  that  my  sovereign 
knows  nothing  of  my  affairs.  Well,  give  me  a  safe-conduct,  and  I 
will  go  to  Dresden,  and  lay  it  before  him." 

"  Godless  and  terrible  man!"  exclaimed  Luther,  both  perplexed 
and  alarmed  by  these  words,  "  Who  gave  thee  a  right  to  attack 
Squire  von  Tronka,  with  no  other  authority  than  thine  own  decree, 
and  then,  when  thou  didst  not  find  him  in  his  castle,  to  visit  with  fire 
and  sword  every  community  that  protected  him?" 

"  Now,  reverend  sir,"  answered  Kohlhaas,  "  the  intelligence  I 
received  from  Dresden  misled  me !  The  war  which  I  carry  on  witli 
the  community  of  mankind  is  unjust,  if  I  have  not  been  expelled 
from  it,  as  you  assure  me !" 

"  Expelled  from  it?"  cried  Luther,  staring  at  him,  "  What  mad- 
ness is  this?  Who  expelled  thee  from  the  community  of  the  state 
in  which  thou  art  living?  When,  since  the  existence  of  states, 
was  there  an  instance  of  such  an  expulsion  of  any  one,  whoever  he 
might  be?" 

"  I  call  him  expelled,"  answered  Kohlhaas,  clenching  his  fist,  "  to 
whom  the  protection  of  the  laws  is  denied !  This  protection  I  require 
to  carry  on  my  peaceful  trade ;  it  is  only  for  the  sake  of  this  protec- 
tion that,  with  my  property,  I  take  refuge  with  this  community,  and 
he  who  denies  it  me  drives  me  back  to  the  beasts  of  the  desert, 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  191 

and  puts  in  my  own  hand,  as  you  cannot  deny,  the  club  which  is  to 
defend  me." 

"  But  who  has  denied  thee  the  protection  of  the  laws?"  cried 
Luther,  "  Did  not  I  myself  write  that  the  complaint  which  was  sent 
by  thee  to  the  elector,  is  still  unknown  to  him  ?  If  his  servants  sup- 
press suits  behind  his  back,  or  abuse  his  sacred  name,  without  his 
knowledge,  who  but  God  shall  call  him  to  account  for  the  choice  of 
such  servants,  and  as  for  thee,  abominable  man,  who  has  entitled  thee 
to  judge  of  him?" 

"  Well,"  answered  Kohlhaas,  "  then  if  the  elector  does  not  expel 
me,  I  will  return  back  again  to  the  community  which  is  under  his 
protection.  Give  me,  as  I  said  before,  a  safe  conduct  to  Dresden, 
and  I  will  disperse  the  band  I  have  assembled  at  the  Castle  of  Liitzen, 
and  will  once  more  bring  the  suit,  with  which  I  failed,  before  the 
tribunal  of  the  country." 

Luther,  with  a  dissatisfied  countenance,  turned  over  the  papers 
which  lay  upon  his  table  and  was  silent.  The  bold  position  which 
this  man  took  in  the  state  offended  him,  and  thinking  over  the 
decree  which  had  been  sent  to  the  squire  from  Kohlhaasenbriick, 
he  asked  "  what  he  wanted  from  the  tribunal  at  Dresden?" 

"  The  punishment  of  the  squire,  according  to  law,"  answered 
Kohlhaas,  "  the  restoration  of  my  horses  to  their  former  condition, 
and  compensation  for  the  injury  which  has  been  suffered  both  by  me 
and  my  man  Herse,  who  fell  at  Muhlberg,  through  the  violence  in- 
flicted upon  us." 

"  Compensation  for  injury !"  cried  Luther,  "  Why  thou  hast  raised 
sums  by  thousands  from  Jews  and  Christians,  in  bonds  and  pledges, 
for  the  satisfaction  of  thy  wild  revenge.  Wilt  thou  fix  an  amount 
if  there  should  be  a  question  about  it?" 

"  God  forbid/'  said  Kohlhaas,  "  I  do  not  ask  back  again  my  house 
and  farm,  or  the  wealth  that  I  possessed — no  more  than  the  expenses 
of  burying  my  wife !  Herse's  old  mother  will  bring  in  an  account  of 
medical  expenses,  and  a  specification  of  what  her  son  lost  at  Tron- 
kenburg,  while  for  the  damage  which  I  sustained  by  not  selling  my 
horses,  the  government  can  settle  that  by  a  competent  arbitrator." 

'  Terrible  and  incomprehensible  man,"  said  Luther,  gazing  at  him. 
"  When  thy  sword  hath  inflicted  on  the  squire  the  most  frightful 
vengeance  that  can  be  conceived,  what  can  induce  thee  to  press  for 
a  sentence  against  him,  the  sharpness  of  which,  if  it  should  take 
effect,  would  inflict  a  wound  of  such  slight  importance?" 

Kohlhaas  answered,  while  a  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek :  "Revered 
sir,  the  affair  has  cost  me  my  wife.  Kohlhaas  would  show  the  world 
that  she  fell  in  the  performance  of  no  injustice.  Concede  to  my  will 
on  these  points,  and  let  the  tribunal  speak.  In  every  other  matter 
that  may  come  under  discussion,  I  yield." 

"  Look,"  said  Luther,  "  what  thou  askest,  supposing  circum- 
stances to  be  such  as  the  general  voice  reports,  is  just;  and  if  thou 
hadst  endeavoured,  without  revenging  thyself  on  thine  own  account, 


192  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

to  lay  thine  affair  before  the  elector  for  his  decision,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  thy  request  would  have  been  granted,  in  every  point.  But  all 
things  considered,  wouldst  thou  not  have  done  better,  if,  for  thy 
Redeemer's  sake,  thou  hadst  forgiven  the  squire,  taken  the  horses, 
lean  and  worn-out  as  they  were,  mounted  them,  and  ridden  home 
upon  them  to  fatten  them  in  their  own  stable  at  Kohlhaasenbruck." 

"  I  might  or  I  might  not,"  answered  Kohlhaas,  going  to  the 
window,  "  Had  I  known  that  I  should  have  to  set  them  up  with  my 
own  wife's  heart's  blood,  then,  reverend  sir,  I  might  have  done  as 
you  say,  and  not  have  grudged  a  bushel  of  oats.  But  now  they 
have  cost  me  so  dear,  the  matter,  as  I  think,  had  better  take  its 
course.  So  let  the  sentence  be  passed  as  is  my  right,  and  let  the 
squire  feed  my  horses." 

Luther,  in  the  midst  of  contending  thoughts,  again  returned  to 
his  papers,  and  said  that  he  would  himself  communicate  with  the 
elector  on  the  affair.  In  the  meanwhile  he  told  Kohlhaas  to  keep 
himself  quiet  at  the  Castle  of  Liitzen,  adding,  that  if  the  elector  con- 
sented to  a  safe-conduct  it  should  be  made  known  to  him  by  means 
of  placards.  "  Whether,"  he  added,  as  Kohlhaas  stooped  to  kiss  his 
hand,  "  the  elector  will  show  mercy  instead  of  justice,  I  know  not, 
for  I  understand  he  has  collected  an  army,  and  is  on  the  point  of 
seizing  thee  at  the  Castle  of  Liitzen.  Nevertheless,  as  I  told  thee 
before,  there  shall  be  no  want  of  trouble  on  my  part."  Upon  this 
he  arose  and  seemed  about  to  dismiss  him.  Kohlhaas  thought  that 
this  intercession  was  perfectly  satisfactory,  and  Luther  was  signify- 
ing a  farewell  with  his  hand,  when  the  former  suddenly  dropped  on 
his  knee  before  him,  and  said  he  had  one  request  deep  at  heart.  At 
Whitsuntide — a  period  when  he  was  usually  accustomed  to  take  the  sa- 
crament— he  had  not  gone  to  church,  on  account  of  his  martial  ex- 
pedition, and  he  begged  that  Luther  would  have  the  kindness  to 
receive  his  confession  without  further  preparation,  and  to  administer 
to  him  the  supper  of  the  Lord. 

Luther,  eyeing  him  keenly,  said  after  a  short  reflection:  "  Yes, 
Kohlhaas,  I  will  do  it.  But  recollect  that  the  Lord,  whose  body 
thou  desirest,  forgave  his  enemy.  Wilt  thou,"  he  added,  as  Kohlhaas 
looked  confused,  "  likewise  forgive  the  squire  who  offended  thee,  go 
to  the  Tronkenburg,  set  thyself  upon  thy  horses,  and  ride  home  to 
fatten  them  at  Kohlhaasenbruck?" 

"  Reverend  sir,"  said  Kohlhaas,  cooling  as  he  grasped  his  hand, 
"  Even  the  Lord  did  not  forgive  all  his  enemies.  Let  me  forgive 
their  highnesses,  the  two  electors,  the  castellan  and  the  bailiff,  the 
rest  of  the  Von  Tronkas,  and  whoever  besides  may  have  injured 
me  in  this  matter,  but  let  me  compel  the  squire  to  feed  my  horses/' 

Luther,  on  hearing  these  words,  turned  his  back  upon  him  with 
a  displeased  countenance,  and  rung  the  bell.  Kohlhaas,  as  a  servant 
with  a  light  announced  himself  in  the  antechamber,  rose  astounded, 
and  drying  his  eyes,  from  the  ground,  and  Luther  having  again  set 
himself  down  to  his  papers,  he  opened  the  door  to  the  man  who  was 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  193 

in  vain  struggling  against,  on  account  of  the  bolt  being  drawn. 
"  Show  a  light,"  said  Luther  to  the  servant,  casting  a  rapid  side- 
glance  at  the  stranger,  whereupon  the  man  rather  astonished  at  the 
visit  took  down  the  house  key  from  the  wall,  and  retired  to  the  door, 
which  stood  half  open,  waiting  for  Kohlhaas  to  withdraw.  "  Then" 
said  Kohlhaas,  deeply  moved,  as  he  took  his  hat  in  both  hands,  'f  I 
cannot  receive  the  benefit  of  a  reconciliation  as  I  entreated." 

"  With  thy  Redeemer,  no  !"  answered  Luther  shortly,  "  With  thy 
sovereign — that,  as  I  told  thee,  depends  upon  the  success  of  an  en- 
deavour." He  then  motioned  the  servant  to  do  as  he  had  been  or- 
dered, without  further  delay.  Kohlhaas,  with  an  expression  of  deep 
pain,  laid  both  his  hands  on  his  heart,  followed  the  man,  who  lit  him 
down  stairs,  and  disappeared. 

On  the  following  morning  Luther  sent  a  communication  to  the 
Elector  of  Saxony,  in  which  after  giving  a  severe  side-blow  to  Herrn 
Henry,  and  Conrad  von  Tronka,  the  cup-bearer  and  chamberlain, 
who  had,  as  was  notorious,  suppressed  the  complaint,  he  told  him, 
with  that  freedom  which  was  peculiar  to  him,  that  under  such  vex- 
atious circumstances  nothing  was  left  but  to  accept  the  horse-dealer's 
proposal,  and  to  grant  an  amnesty  on  account  of  the  past,  that  he 
might  renew  his  suit.  Public  opinion,  he  remarked,  was  completely 
on  the  side  of  this  man,  and  that  to  a  dangerous  degree;  nay,  to  such 
an  extent,  that  even  the  city  of  Wittenberg,  which  he  had  burned 
three  times,  raised  a  voice  in  his  favour.  If  his  offer  were  refused 
it  would  unquestionably  be  brought,  accompanied  by  very  obnoxious 
remarks,  to  the  notice  of  the  people,  who  might  easily  be  so  far  led 
away  that  the  state  authority  could  do  nothing  whatever  with  the 
transgressor.  He  concluded  with  the  observation,  that  in  this  case 
the  difficulty  of  treating  with  a  citizen  who  had  taken  up  arms  must 
be  passed  over;  that  by  the  conduct  towards  him  the  man  had  been 
in  a  certain  manner  released  from  his  obligation  to  the  state;  and 
that  in  short,  to  settle  the  matter,  it  would  be  better  to  consider  him 
as  a  foreign  person  who  had  invaded  the  country — which  would  be 
in  some  measure  correct,  as  he  was  indeed  a  foreigner* — than  as  a 
rebel  who  had  taken  up  arms  against  the  throne. 

The  elector  received  this  letter  just  when  Prince  Christian  of  Mis- 
nia,  generalissimo  of  the  empire,  and  uncle  of  the  Prince  Frederic 
ho  was  defeated  at  Miihlberg,  and  still  very  ill  of  his  wounds,  the 
ligh  chancellor  of  the  tribunal,  Count  Wrede,  Count  Kallheim,  pre- 
ident  of  the  state-chancery,   and  the  two  von  Tronkas,  the  cup- 
)earer,  and  the   chamberlain,  who  had  both  been  friends  of  the 
elector  from  his  youth,  were  present  in  the  castle.     The  chamber- 
ain,  who,  as  a  privy  counsellor  of  the  elector,  conducted  private 
correspondence,  with  the  privilege  of  using  his  name  and  coat  of 
arms,  iirst  opened  the  subject,  and  after  explaining  at  great  length, 
'hat  on  his  own  authority  he  would  never  have  set  aside  the  peti- 

*  That  is  a  subject  of  another  state,  here  Brandenburg. 
O 


194  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

tion  which  the  horse-dealer  had  presented  to  the  tribunal  against  his 
cousin  the  squire,  if  he  had  not  been  induced  by  false  representa- 
tions to  consider  it  a  mere  vexatious  and  useless  affair, — he  came  to 
the  present  state  of  things.  He  observed  that  neither  according  to 
divine  nor  human  laws  had  the  horse-dealer  any  right  to  take  such  a 
monstrous  revenge,  as  he  had  allowed  himself  on  account  of  this 
oversight.  He  dwelled  on  the  lustre  which  would  fall  on  the  im- 
pious head  of  Kohlhaas,  if  he  were  treated  as  a  party  lawfully  at 
war,  and  the  dishonour  which  would  result  to  the  sacred  person  of 
the  elector  by  such  a  proceeding  appeared  to  him  so  great,  that 
he  said,  with  all  the  fire  of  eloquence,  that  he  would  rather  see  the 
decree  of  the  round-headed  rebel  acted  on,  and  the  squire,  his  cousin, 
carried  off  to  feed  the  horses  at  Kohlhaasenbruck,  than  he  would  see 
the  proposition  of  Dr.  Martin  Luther  accepted.  The  high  chan- 
cellor of  the  tribunal,  half  turning  to  the  chamberlain,  expressed  his 
regret  that  such  a  tender  anxiety,  as  he  now  showed  to  clear  up 
this  affair  to  the  honour  of  his  sovereign,  had  not  inspired  him  in 
the  first  instance.  He  pointed  out  to  the  elector  his  objection 
against  the  employment  of  force  to  carry  out  a  measure  which  Avas 
manifestly  unjust;  he  alluded  to  the  constant  increase  of  the  horse- 
dealer's  followers  as  a  most  important  circumstance,  observing  that 
the  thread  of  misdeeds  seemed  to  be  spinning  itself  out  to  an  in- 
finite length,  and  declared  that  only  an  act  of  absolute  justice, 
which  should  immediately  and  without  reserve  make  good  the  false 
step  that  had  been  taken,  could  rescue  the  elector  and  the  govern- 
ment from  this  hateful  affair. 

Prince  Christian  of  Misnia,  in  answer  to  the  elector's  question, 
"  what  he  thought  of  it,"  answered,  turning  respectfully  to  the  high 
chancellor,  that  the  sentiments  which  he  had  just  heard  filled  him 
with  great  respect,  but  that  the  chancellor  did  not  consider  that 
while  he  was  for  helping  Kohlhaas  to  his  rights,  he  was  compromis- 
ing Wittenberg,  Leipzig,  and  the  whole  of  the  country,  which  he 
had  laid  waste,  in  their  just  claims  to  restitution  or  at  least  to  the 
punishment  of  the  offender.  The  order  of  the  state  had  been  so 
completely  distorted  in  the  case  of  this  man,  that  a  maxim,  taken 
from  the  science  of  law,  could  scarcely  set  it  right  again.  Hence 
he  agreed  with  the  opinion  of  the  chamberlain  that  the  measures 
appointed  for  such  cases  should  be  adopted,  that  an  armed  force  of 
sufficient  magnitude  should  be  raised,  and  that  the  horse-dealer, 
who  had  settled  himself  in  the  Castle  of  Liitzen,  should  be  arrested, 
or,  at  any  rate,  that  his  power  should  be  crushed. 

The  chamberlain,  politely  taking  from  the  wall  two  chairs  for  the 
elector  and  the  prince,  said  lie  rejoiced  that  a  man  of  such  known  in- 
tegrity and  acuteness  agreed  with  him  in  the  means  to  be  employed 
in  arranging  this  difficult  affair.  The  prince,  holding  the  chair  without 
sitting  down,  and  looking  hard  at  him,  observed,  that  he  had  no 
reason  to  rejoice,  since  a  measure  necessarily  connected  with  the  one 
he  had  recommended,  would  be  to  order  his  arrest,  and  proceed 
against  him  for  the  misuse  of  the  elector's  name.  For  if  necessity 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  195 

required  that  tlie  veil  should  be  let  down  before  the  throne  of  justice, 
over  a  series  of  iniquities,  which  kept  on  indefinitely  increasing,  and 
therefore  could  no  more  find  space  to  appear  at  the  bar,  that  was  not 
the  case  with  the  first  misdeed  that  was  the  origin  of  all.  A  capital 
prosecution  of  the  chamberlain  would  alone  authorise  the  state  to 
crush  the  horse-dealer,  whose  cause  was  notoriously  just,  and  into 
whose  hand  had  been  thrust  the  sword  which  he  carried. 

The  elector,  whom  von  Tronka  eyed  with  some  confusion  as  he  heard 
these  words,  turned  round  deeply  colouring,  and  approached  the  win- 
dow. Count  Kallheim,  after  an  awkward  pause  on  all  sides,  said  that 
in  this  way  they  could  not  get  out  of  the  magic  circle  which  encom- 
passed them.  With  equal  right  might  proceedings  be  commenced 
against  the  prince's  nephew,  Prince  Frederic,  since  even  he.  in  the 
singular  expedition  which  lie  undertook  against  Kohlhaas  had,  in 
many  instances,  exceeded  his  instructions  ;  and,  therefore,  were  the 
inquiry  once  set  on  foot  about  the  numerous  persons  who  had  occa- 
sioned the  present  difficulty,  he  must  be  included  in  the  list,  and  called 
to  account  by  the  elector  for  what  had  taken  place  at  Muhlberg. 

The  cup-bearer,  von  Tronka,  while  the  elector  with  doubtful 
glances  approached  his  table,  then  took  up  the  subject,  and  said,  that 
he  could  not  conceive  how  the  right  method  of  proceeding  had 
escaped  men  of  such  wisdom,  as  those  assembled  unquestionably  were. 
The  horse-dealer,  as  far  as  he  understood,  had  promised  to  dismiss  his 
force  if  he  obtained  a  free  conduct  to  Dresden,  and  a  renewed  inves- 
tigation of  his  cause.  From  this,  however,  it  did  not  follow,  that  he 
was  to  have  an  amnesty  for  his  monstrous  acts  of  vengeance ;  two 
distinct  points  which  Dr.  Luther  and  the  council  seemed  to  have  con- 
fused. "  If,"  he  continued,  laying  his  finger  to  the  side  of  his  nose, 
"  the  judgment  on  account  of  the  horses — no  matter  which  way  it 
goes—  is  pronounced  by  the  Dresden  tribunal,  there  is  nothing  to  pre- 
vent us  from  arresting  Kohlhaas  on  the  ground  of  his  robberies  and 
incendiarism.  This  would  be  a  prudent  stroke  of  policy,  which  would 
unite  the  views  of  the  statesmen  on  both  sides,  and  secure  the  ap- 
plause of  the  world  and  of  posterity." 

The  elector,  when  the  prince  and  the  high  chancellor  answered 
this  discourse  of  the  cup-bearer  merely  with  an  angry  glance,  and 
the  discussion  seemed  to  be  at  an  end,  said  that  he  would  by  himself 
reflect  on  the  different  opinions  he  had  heard  till  the  next  sitting  of 
the  council.  His  heart  being  very  susceptible  to  friendship,  the  pre- 
liminary measure  proposed  by  the  prince  had  extinguished  in  him  the 
desire  of  commencing  the  expedition  against  Kohlhaas,  for  which 
every  preparation  had  been  made.  At  all  events  he  kept  with  him 
the  high  chancellor,  Count  Wrede,  whose  opinion  appeared  the  most 
feasible ;  and  when  this  nobleman  showed  him  letters,  from  which  it 
appeared  that  the  horse-dealer  had  already  acquired  a  force  of  four 
hundred  men,  and  was  likely,  in  a  short  time,  to  double  and  treble 
it,  amid  the  general  discontent  which  prevailed  in  the  land  on  ac- 
count of  the  chamberlain's  irregularities,  he  resolved  without  delay 

O  2 


196  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

to  adopt  Dr.  Luther's  advice ;  he,  therefore,  entrusted  to  Count 
Wrede  the  whole  management  of  the  Kohlhaas  affair,  and  in  a  few 
days  appeared  a  placard,  the  substance  of  which  was  as  follows : 

"  We,  &c.,  &c.,  Elector  of  Saxony,  having  especial  regard  to  the 
intercession  of  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  do  give  notice  to  Michael  Kohl- 
haas, horse-dealer  of  Brandenburg,  that,  on  condition  of  his  laying 
down  arms,  within  three  days  after  sight  hereof,  he  shall  have  free 
conduct  to  Dresden,  to  the  end  that  his  cause  be  tried  anew.  And 
if,  as  is  not  to  be  expected,  his  suit,  concerning  the  horses,  shall  be 
rejected  by  the  tribunal  at  Dresden,  then  shall  he  be  prosecuted  with 
all  the  severity  of  the  law  for  attempting  to  obtain  justice  by  his  own 
might;  but,  in  the  contrary  case,  mercy  instead  of  justice  shall  be 
granted,  and  a  full  amnesty  shall  be  given  to  Kohlhaas  and  all  his 
troop." 

No  sooner  had  Kohlhaas  received  a  copy  of  this  notice,  which  was 
posted  up  all  over  the  country,  through  the  hands  of  Dr.  Luther, 
than,  notwithstanding  the  conditional  manner  in  which  it  was  worded, 
he  dismissed  his  whole  band  with  gifts,  thanks,  and  suitable  advice. 
All  that  he  gained  by  plunder — money,  arms,  and  implements — he 
gave  up  to  the  courts  of  Lutzen,  as  the  elector's  property,  and  after 
he  had  sent  Waldmann  to  Kolilhaasenbruck,  with  letters  to  the 
farmer,  that  he  might,  if  possible,  re-purchase  his  farm,  and  Stern- 
bald  to  Schwerin  to  fetch  his  children,  whom  he  again  wished  to 
have  with  him,  he  left  the  Castle  of  Liitzen,  and  went  to  Dresden, 
unknown,  with  the  rest  of  his  little  property,  which  he  held  in 
paper. 

It  was  daybreak,  and  the  whole  city  was  still  sleeping,  when  he 
knocked  at  the  door  of  his  small  tenement  in  the  Pirna  suburb,  which 
had  been  left  him  through  the  honesty  of  the  farmer,  and  told  his 
old  servant,  Thomas,  who  had  the  care  of  the  property,  and  who 
opened  the  door  with  amazement,  that  he  might  go  and  tell  the 
Prince  of  Misnia,  at  the  seat  of  government,  that  he,  Kohlhaas,  the 
horse-dealer,  was  there.  The  Prince  of  Misnia,  who,  on  hearing  this 
announcement,  thought  it  right  immediately  to  inform  himself  of  the 
relation  in  which  this  man  stood,  found,  as  he  went  out  with  a  train 
of  knights  and  soldiers,  that  the  streets  leading  to  the  residence  of 
Kohlhaas  were  already  thronged  with  an  innumerable  multitude. 
The  intelligence  that  the  destroying  angel  was  there,  who  pur- 
sued the  oppressors  of  the  people  with  fire  and  sword,  had  set  all 
Dresden,  city  and  suburbs,  in  motion.  It  was  found  necessary  to 
bolt  the  door  against  the  pressure  of  the  anxious  multitude,  and  the 
youngsters  clambered  up  to  the  window  to  see  the  incendiary,  who 
was  at  breakfast.  As  soon  as  the  prince,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
guard,  who  forced  a  passage  for  him,  had  pressed  forward  into  the 
house,  and  had  entered  Kohlhaas's  room,  he  asked  him,  as  he  stood 
half-undressed  at  a  table,  "  Whether  he  was  Kohlhaas,  the  horse- 
dealer?"  Whereupon  Kohlhaas,  taking  out  of  his  girdle  a  pocket- 
book,  with  several  papers  relating  to  his  position,  and  handing  them 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

over,  respectfully  said,  "  Yes !"  adding  that,  after  dismissing  his  band, 
in  conformity  with  the  privilege  which  the  elector  had  granted,  he 
had  come  to  Dresden  to  bring  his  suit  against  Squire  Wenzel  voii 
Tronka,  on  account  of  his  black  horses.  The  prince,  after  a  hasty 
glance,  in  which  he  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  ran  over  the 
papers  which  he  found  in  the  pocket-book,  heard  his  explanation  of 
the  meaning  of  a  document  given  by  the  court  at  Liitzen,  and  re- 
lating to  the  deposit  in  favour  of  the  electoral  treasury.  Then, 
having  examined  him  by  all  sorts  of  questions  about  his  children, 
his  property,  and  the  sort  of  life  he  intended  to  lead  in  future,  and 
having  thus  ascertained  that  there  was  no  occasion  to  feel  uneasiness 
on  his  account,  he  returned  to  him  his  pocket-book  and  said  that 
there  was  nothing  to  impede  his  suit,  and  that  he  might  himself 
apply  to  Count  Wrede,  the  high  chancellor  of  the  tribunal,  and  com- 
mence it  immediately.  The  prince  then,  after  a  pause,  during  which 
he  went  to  the  window  and  saw,  with  wonder,  the  immense  mul- 
titude before  the  house,  said:  "You  will  be  obliged  to  have  a 
guard  for  the  first  days  to  watch  over  you  here  and  when  you  go 
out !"  Kohlhaas  cast  down  his  eyes  surprised  and  was  silent.  "  Well, 
no  matter!"  said  the  prince,  leaving  the  window,  "whatever  hap- 
pens you  will  only  have  yourself  to  blame."  He  then  moved  to- 
wards the  door  with  the  design  of  quitting  the  house.  Kohlhaas, 
who  had  recovered,  said,  "  Do  as  you  please,  gracious  prince !  Only 
pledge  me  your  word  to  remove  the  guard  as  soon  as  I  desire  it  and 
1  have  no  objection  to  make  against  this  measure."  "  That  is  not 
worth  speaking  of,"  said  the  prince,  who  after  telling  the  three  sol- 
diers, who  were  appointed  as  guards,  that  the  man  in  whose  house 
they  were  placed  was  free,  and  that  when  he  went  out  they  were 
merely  to  follow  him  for  his  protection,  took  leave  of  the  horse- 
dealer  Avith  a  condescending  wave  of  the  hand  and  departed. 

About  noon,  Kohlhaas,  attended  by  his  three  guards,  and  followed 
by  a  countless  multitude,  who,  warned  by  the  police,  did  him  no 
manner  of  injury,  proceeded  to  the  chancellor's.  Count  Wrede  re- 
ceived him,  in  his  anteroom,  with  kindness  and  affability,  discoursed 
with  him  for  two  entire  hours,  and  after  he  had  heard  the  whole 
course  of  events  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  affair,  he  di- 
rected him  to  a  celebrated  advocate  in  the  city,  who  was  attached  to 
the  court,  that  he  might  favourably  draw  up  his  complaint.  Kohl- 
haas without  further  delay  went  to  the  advocate's  house,  and  after 
the  complaint  was  drawn  up,  which,  like  the  first  rejected  one,  re- 
quired the  punishment  of  the  squire  according  to  law,  the  restoration 
of  the  horses  to  their  former  condition,  and  a  compensation  both  for 
the  damage  he  had  sustained,  and  for  what  his  servant,  Herse,  who 
had  fallen  at  Miihlberg,  had  suffered  (for  the  benefit  of  his  mother), 
he  again  returned  home,  still  followed  by  the  gaping  multitude,  re- 
solving not  to  go  out  of  doors  uny  more  unless  urgent  necessity  de- 
manded it. 

In  the  meanwhile  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka  was  released  from 


198  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

his  confinement  in  Wittenberg,  and  after  he  had  recovered  from  a 
dangerous  erysipelas  in  the  foot,  was  peremptorily  summoned  by  the 
tribunal  to  appear  at  Dresden,  and  answer  the  complaint  of  the  horse- 
dealer,  Kohlhaas,  respecting  certain  horses,  which  had  been  unlaw- 
fully detained  and  spoiled.     His  relations,  the  brothers  von  Tronka, 
(the  chamberlain  and  the  cupbearer,)  at  whose  house  he  put  up,  re- 
ceived him  with  the  greatest  indignation  and  contempt;  they  called 
him  a  wretched  and  worthless  person,  who  brought  disgrace  on  all 
his  family,  told  him  that  he  would  infallibly  lose  the  cause,  and  bade 
him  prepare  to  bring  the  horses,  which  he  would  be  condemned  to 
feed,  amid  the  general  derision  of  the  world.     The  squire,  with  a 
weak  trembling  voice,  said  that  he  was  more  to  be  pitied  than  any 
one  in  the  world.     He  swore  that  he  knew  but  little  of  the  whole 
cursed  business,  which  had  plunged  him  into  calamity,  and  that  the 
castellan  and  the  bailiff  were  alone  to  blame,  inasmuch  as  they  had 
employed  the  horses  in  the  harvest  without  the  remotest  knowledge 
and  wish  on  his  part,  and  had  ruined  them  by  immoderate  work  in 
their  corn  fields.     He  sat  down  as  he  uttered  these  words,  and  en- 
treated his  relations  not  to  plunge  him  back  again  into  the  illness 
from  which  he  had  recovered,  by  their  reproaches.     On  the  follow- 
ing day,  the  brothers  von  Tronka,  who  possessed  property  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  destroyed  Tronkenburg,  finding  there  was  no- 
thing else  to  be  done,  wrote  to  their  farmers  and  bailiffs,  at  their 
kinsman's  request,  to  obtain  information  respecting  the  horses,  which 
had  disappeared  on  the  day  of  the  calamity  and  had  not  been  heard 
of  since.     But  the  whole  place  having  been  laid  waste,  and  nearly 
all  the  inhabitants  having  been  slaughtered,  they  could  learn  no 
more  than  that  a  servant,  driven  by  blows  with  the  flat  of  the  in- 
cendiary's sabre,  had  saved  the  horses  from  the  burning  shed,  in 
which  they  stood,  and  that  on  asking  where  he  was  to  take  them, 
and  what  he  was  to  do,  he  only  received  from  the  ruffian  a  kick  for 
an  answer.     The  gouty  old  housekeeper,  who  had  fled  to  Misnia, 
stated,  in  writing,  that  the  servant  on  the  morning  that  followed  that 
dreadful  night  had  gone  with  the  horses  to  the  Brandenburg  border. 
Nevertheless  all  inquiries  made  in  that  direction  proved  fruitless, 
and,  indeed,  the  intelligence  did  not  appear  correct,  as  the  squire 
had  no  servant  whose  house  was  in  Brandenburg  or  even  on  the  road 
thither.     Men  from  Dresden,  who  had  been  at  Wilsdruf  a  few  days 
after  the  conflagration  of  the  Tronkenburg,  said  that  about  the  time 
specified  a  boy  had  come  there  leading  two  horses  by  a  halter,  and 
that  he  had  left  the  animals,  as  they  were  in  a  very  wretched  plight 
and  unable  to  proceed  further,  in  the  cow-shed  of  a  shepherd,  who 
had  wished  to  restore  them  to  good  condition.     For  many  reasons  it 
seemed  probable  Enough  that  these  were  the  horses  in  question,  but 
the  shepherd  of  Wilsdruf  had,  according  to  the  account  of  people 
who  came  thence,  already  sold  them  to  somebody — it  was  not  known 
to  whom ;  while  a  third  rumour,  the  originator  of  which  could  not 
be  discovered,  was  to  the  effect  that  the  horses  were  dead  and  had 


MICHAEL  KOHLIIAAS.  199 

been  buried  in  the  pit  at  Wilsdruf.  The  brothers  von  Tronka,  who, 
as  might  be  supposed,  considered  this  turn  of  affairs  the  most  de- 
sirable, seeing  they  would  be  relieved  by  it  from  the  necessity  of 
feeding  the  horses  in  their  own  stable — which  they  must  otherwise 
have  done,  as  their  cousin,  the  squire,  had  no  stables  of  his  own — 
nevertheless  wished  to  be  thoroughly  assured  that  the  circumstances 
were  correctly  stated.  Accordingly  Herr  Wenzel  von  Tronka,  in 
his  capacity  of  feudal  lord,  wrote  to  the  courts  of  Wilsdruf,  de- 
scribing very  fully  the  horses  which,  he  said,  had  been  lent  to  him, 
and  had  since,  unfortunately,  been  taken  away,  and  requesting  them 
to  try  to  discover  where  those  animals  were  stationed,  and  to  de- 
sire the  present  owner,  whoever  he  might  be,  to  deliver  them  up 
at  the  stables  of  the  Chamberlain  von  Tronka,  on  an  indemnification 
for  all  expenses. 

In  a  few  days  the  man,  to  whom  the  shepherd  of  Wilsdruf  had 
sold  the  horses  made  his  appearance  and  brought  them,  lean  and  tot- 
tering, tied  to  his  cart,  to  the  market-place  of  the  city.  Unfor- 
tunately for  Squire  Wenzel,  and  still  more  so  for  honest  Kohlhaas, 
this  man  was  the  knacker  from  Dbbbeln. 

As  soon  as  Wenzel,  in  the  presence  of  his  cousin,  the  chamberlain, 
heard  an  indistinct  rumour  that  a  man  with  two  black  horses,  saved 
from  the  names  at  the  Tronkenburg,  had  come  into  the  city,  they 
both  set  off  attended  by  some  servants,  whom  they  had  hastily 
gathered  together  to  the  castle-yard,  where  he  was,  that  in  case  the 
horses  should  turn  out  to  be  Kohlhaas's  they  might  pay  the  expenses 
and  take  them  home.  But  how  surprised  were  they  when  they  saw 
a  multitude,  which  increased  every  moment,  attracted  by  the  spec- 
tacle, and  assembled  about  the  cart  to  which  the  horses  were  fastened. 
The  people  were  shouting  amid  peals  of  laughter,  that  the  horses 
which  had  caused  the  state  to  totter  had  come  to  the  knackers.  The 
squire,  who  had  walked  round  the  cart,  and  saw  with  confusion  the 
miserable  beasts,  who  looked  every  moment  as  if  they  longed  to 
die,  said  that  these  were  not  the  horses  which  he  had  taken  from 
Kohlhaas,  when  the  chamberlain  casting  upon  him  a  look  of  speech- 
less rage,  which,  had  he  been  made  of  iron,  would  have  crushed  him, 
stepped  up  to  the  knacker  and  asked  him,  as  he  flung  back  his  mantle 
and  discovered  his  chain  and  order,  whether  these  were  the  horses 
which  had  been  in  the  possession  of  the  shepherd  of  Wilsdruf,  and 
which  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka,  to  whom  they  belonged,  had  re- 
quired. The  man,  who  with  a  pail  in  his  hand,  was  watering  a  stout- 
bodied  horse,  that  drew  his  cart,  said:  "  Do  you  mean  the  black 
ones?"  Taking  the  bit  out  of  his  horse's  mouth,  and  setting  down 
the  pail  he  said  that  the  animals  tied  to  the  cart  had  been  sold  to  him 
by  a  swineherd  of  Hainichen,  but  where  he  got  them,  and  whether 
they  came  from  the  Wilsdruf  shepherd — that  he  knew  nothing 
about.  The  messenger  of  the  Wilsdruf  court,  he  said,  as  he  again 
took  up  the  pail  and  rested  it  against  the  pole  of  the  cart,  had  told 
him  that  he  was  to  bring  them  to  Dresden  to  the  house  of  the  von 


200  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

Tronkas,  but  the  squire  to  whom  he  had  been  directed  was  called 
Conrad.  After  these  words  he  turned  round  with  the  remainder  of 
the  water,  which  the  horse  had  left  in  the  pail,  and  flung  it  upon  the 
pavement. 

The  chamberlain,  who  amid  the  gaze  of  the  scoffing  multi- 
tude could  not  get  a  look  from  the  fellow,  who  continued  his 
work  with  the  most  insensible  zeal,  told  him  that  he  was  the  Squire 
Conrad  von  Tronka,  but  that  the  horses  he  had  with  him  belonged 
to  the  squire  his  cousin,  that  they  had  come  to  the  Wilsdruf  shep- 
herd through  a  servant  who  had  run  away,  taking  advantage  of  the 
fire  at  the  Tronkenburg,  and  that  they  originally  belonged  to  the 
horse-dealer  Kohlhaas.  He  asked  the  fellow,  who  stood  with  out- 
stretched legs  and  hitched  up  his  breeches,  whether  he  really  knew 
nothing  about  the  matter; — whether  the  swineherd  of  Hainichen  had 
not  purchased  them  from  the  Wilsdruf  shepherd  (on  which  circum- 
stance all  depended),  or  from  some  third  party,  who  might  have 
obtained  them  from  that  source. 

The  man  rudely  said  that  he  understood  not  a  word  that  was 
said,  and  that  whether  Peter  or  Paul  or  the  Wilsdruf  shepherd 
had  the  horses  before  the  swineherd  of  Hainichen — it  was  just  the 
same  to  him — provided  they  were  not  stolen.  Upon  this  he  went, 
with  his  whip  across  his  broad  back,  to  a  neighbouring  pot-house 
to  get  his  breakfast. 

The  chamberlain,  who  did  not  know  what  in  the  world  he  should  do 
with  the  horses,  which  the  swineherd  of  Hainichen  had,  as  it  seemed, 
sold  to  the  knacker  of  Dbbbeln,  unless  indeed  they  were  the  horses  on 
which  the  devil  rode  through  Saxony,  asked  the  squire  to  put  in  a  word, 
and  when  his  kinsman,  with  pale  trembling  lips,  answered  that  the 
most  advisable  plan  would  be  to  buy  them,  whether  they  belonged  to 
Kohlhaas  or  not,  he  wrapped  his  mantle  round  him,  and  not  know- 
ing what  to  do,  retired  from  the  crowd,  cursing  the  father  and  mother 
who  had  given  him  birth.  He  then  called  to  him  Baron  von  Wenk, 
one  of  his  acquaintance,  who  was  riding  along  the  street,  and  re- 
solving not  to  leave  the  spot,  because  the  rabble  looked  at  him 
scoffingly,  and  with  their  handkerchiefs  before  their  mouths  only 
seemed  to  wait  for  his  departure  to  burst  out,  he  bade  him  call  on 
Count  von  Wrcde  and  by  his  means  make  Kohlhaas  come  to  inspect 
the  horses. 

Now  it  happened  that  Kohlhaas,  who  had  been  summoned  by 
an  officer  of  the  court  to  give  certain  explanations  as  to  the  surrender 
of  property  at  Llitzcn,  was  present  in  the  chancellor's  room  when  the 
baron  entered,  and  while  the  chancellor  with  a  fretful  countenance  rose 
from  his  chair  and  motioned  the  horse-dealer  aside,  the  baron,  to  whom 
the  person  of  Kohlhaas  was  unknown,  represented  the  difficulty  in 
which  the  von  Tronkas  were  placed.  The  knacker  had  come  from 
Dobbeln  in  accordance  with  a  defective  requisition  of  the  Wilsdruf 
courts,  with  horses  certainly;  but  their  condition  was  so  hopeless  that 
Squire  Wenzel  could  not  help  feeling  a  doubt  as  to  their  belonging 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  201 

to  Kolilhaas.  Hence,  if  they  were  to  be  taken  from  the  knacker, 
in  order  that  their  recovery  might  be  attempted,  an  ocular  inspec- 
tion by  Kolilhaas  would  be  necessary  in  the  first  instance  to  clear  up 
the  doubt  that  existed.  "  Have  then  the  goodness,"  he  concluded, 
"  to  fetch  the  horse-dealer  out  of  his  house  with  a  guard,  and  let  him 
be  taken  to  the  market-place  where  the  horses  now  are." 

The  chancellor,  taking  his  spectacles  from  his  nose,  said  that  he 
found  himself  in  a  dilemma,  since,  on  the  one  hand,  he  did  not  think 
the  affair  could  be  settled  otherwise  than  by  the  ocular  inspection 
of  Kohlhaas;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  conceive  that  he,  as 
chancellor,  had  any  right  to  send  Kolilhaas  about  guarded,  wherever 
the  squire's  fancy  might  dictate.  He  therefore  introduced  to  the 
baron  the  horse-dealer,  who  was  standing,  behind  him ;  and  while 
he  sat  down  and  again  put  on  his  spectacles,  told  him  to  apply  to 
the  man  himself.  Kohlhaas,  who  allowed  no  gesture  to  show  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind,  declared  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  follow 
the  baron  to  the  market,  and  inspect  the  horses,  which  the  knacker 
had  brought  to  the  city.  He  then,  while  the  baron  turned  round, 
confused,  again  approached  the  chancellor's  table,  and  took  leave  of 
him,  having  given  him  from  his  pocket-book  several  papers  relative 
to  the  surrender  at  Llitzen.  The  baron,  who,  with  a  face  red  as 
fire,  had  retired  to  the  window,  likewise  took  leave  of  the  chan- 
cellor, and  the  two,  accompanied  by  the  guards  appointed  by  the 
Prince  of  Misnia,  proceeded  to  the  palace-yard,  accompanied  by  a 
multitude  of  people.  Herr  Conrad,  the  chamberlain,  who,  in  spite 
of  the  solicitation  of  several  friends  on  the  spot,  had  maintained  his 
ground  among  the  people  against  the  knacker  of  Dobbeln,  no 
sooner  saw  the  baron  and  the  horse-dealer,  than  he  approached  the 
latter,  and,  holding  his  sword  proudly  under  his  arm,  asked  him  if 
the  horses  which  stood  behind  the  cart  were  his.  The  horse-dealer, 
after  modestly  turning  to  the  gentleman  who  questioned  him,  and 
whom  he  did  not  know,  and  touching  his  hat,  went  up  to  the  knacker's 
cart,  followed  by  the  train  of  knights.  At  about  twelve  paces  dis- 
tance he  glanced  hastily  at  the  animals,  who  stood  on  tottering  legs, 
with  their  heads  bent  to  the  ground,  and  did  not  eat  the  hay  which 
the  knacker  put  before  them,  and  then  returning  to  the  chamber- 
lain, exclaimed:  "Gracious  sir,  the  man  is  quite  right;  the  horses 
which  are  bound  to  the  cart  belong  to  me."  Then  looking  at  the 
circle  around  him,  he  touched  his  hat  once  more,  and,  attended  by 
his  guard,  again  left  the  spot.  The  chamberlain  had  no  sooner 
heard  what  Kohlhaas  said,  than  he  approached  the  knacker  with  a 
hurried  step,  that  made  the  plume  on  his  helmet  shake,  flung  him  a 
purse  full  of  gold;  and  while  the  man,  with  the  purse  in  his  hand, 
was  staring  at  his  money,  and  was  combing  back  his  hair  with  a 
leaden  comb,  he  ordered  his  servant  to  detach  the  horses  and  lead 
them  home.  This  servant,  who,  at  his  master's  call,  had  left  a  circle 
of  friends  and  relatives  in  the  crowd,  went  up  to  the  horses  over  a 
large  puddle,  with  a  face  somewhat  crimson.  Scarcely,  however,  had 


202  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

he  touched  the  halter,  than  his  cousin,  Master  Himboldt,  with  the 
words,  "  You  shall  not  touch  that  carrion,""  seized  his  arm  and  flung 
him  from  the  cart.  He  added,  picking  his  way  over  the  puddle  to 
the  chamberlain,  who  stood  dumb  with  astonishment,  that  he  must 
get  a  knacker's  boy  to  perform  such  an  office  for  him.  The  cham- 
berlain, who,  foaming  with  rage,  gazed  for  a  moment  at  Himboldt, 
turned  round,  and  called  after  the  guard  over  the  heads  of  the 
knights  who  were  about  him.  As  soon  as,  by  the  order  of  Baron 
von  Wenk,  an  officer  with  some  electoral  troopers  had  made  his 
appearance  from  the  castle,  he  desired  him,  after  briefly  setting  forth 
the  shameful  acts  of  rebellion  which  the  burghers  of  the  city  ven- 
tured on,  instantly  to  take  the  ringleader,  Master  Himboldt,  into 
custody.  Then  seizing  Himboldt  by  the  collar,  he  accused  him  of 
flinging  away  from  the  cart  the  servant  who,  by  his  orders,  was  un- 
binding the  horses,  and  otherwise  ill-using  him.  Master  Himboldt, 
throwing  off  the  chamberlain  with  a  dexterous  twist,  said:  "  Gracious 
sir,  telling  a  fellow  of  twenty  what  he  ought  to  do,  is  not  inciting 
him  to  rebellion.  Ask  him  whether,  against  all  usage  and  propriety, 
he  will  meddle  with  those  horses  that  are  tied  up  to  the  cart.  If  he 
will,  after  what  I  have  told  him — why,  be  it  so  !  For  all  that  I  care, 
he  may  flay  them  on  the  spot  if  he  pleases."  Upon  this  the  cham- 
bciiain  turned  round  to  the  servant,  and  asked  him  whether  he 
had  any  objection  to  fulfil  his  commands;  namely,  to  untie  Kohl- 
haas's  horses,  and  take  them  home.  The  lad,  timidly  slinking 
among  the  burghers,  answered  that  the  horses  must  be  made 
decent  before  he  could  do  any  thing  of  the  sort;  whereupon  the 
chamberlain  darted  after  him,  tore  off  his  hat,  which  bore  the 
badge  of  his  house,  trampled  it  under  foot,  drew  his  sword,  and 
hunting  the  fellow  about  with  furious  strokes  of  the  blade,  made 
him  at  once  quit  the  spot  and  his  service  together.  "  Strike  the 
ruffian  to  the  ground !"  shouted  Master  Himboldt,  and  while  the 
burghers  indignant  at  the  spectacle,  combined  together  and  forced 
away  the  _  guard,  he  knocked  down  the  chamberlain  from  behind, 
tore  off  his  mantle,  collar,  and  helmet,  twisted  the  sword  out  of  his 
hand,  and  furiously  flung  it  to  a  distance.  In  vain  did  Squire 
Wenzel,  saving  himself  from  the  tumult,  call  on  the  knights  to 
assist  his  cousin ;  before  they  could  advance  a  step  they  were  dis- 
persed by  the  pressure  of  the  people,  so  that  the  chamberlain,  who 
had  hurt  his  head  by  the  fall,  was  exposed  to  all  the  fury  of  the 
mob.  Nothing  could  have  saved  him  but  the  appearance  of  a  troop 
of  soldiers  who  happened  to  be  riding  by,  and  whom  the  oflicer  of 
the  electoral  troopers  called  to  his  assistance.  This  'officer,  after 
repelling  the  multitude,  seized  the  enraged  Himboldt,  who  was  con- 
ducted to  prison  by  some  knights,  while  two  friends  picked  up  from 
the  ground  the  unfortunate  chamberlain  all  covered  with  blood,  and 
took  him  home.  Such  was  the  unlucky  termination  of  the  really 
well-meant  and  honest  attempt  to  repair  the  wrong  which  had  been 
done  to  the  horse-dealer.  The  knacker  of  Dobbeln,  whose  business 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  203 

was  over,  and  who  did  not  want  to  stop  any  longer,  tied  the  horses  to 
a  lamp-post  as  soon  as  the  people  began  to  disperse,  and  there  they 
stood  all  day,  without  any  one  to  care  about  them — a  jest  for  the 
loiterers  in  the  street.  Indeed,  for  the  want  of  all  other  attendance, 
the  police  was  obliged  to  take  them  in  hand,  and  towards  night 
called  upon  the  knacker  of  Dresden  to  keep  them  in  the  yard 
before  the  town  till  further  directions. 

This  occurrence,  though  the  horse-dealer  had  really'nothing  to  do 
with  it,  awakened  among  the  better  and  more  temperate  sort  of 
people,  a  feeling  which  was  highly  unfavourable  to  his  cause.  The 
relation  in  which  he  stood  to  the  state  was  considered  quite  un- 
sufferable,  and  both  in  private  houses  and  in  public  places,  the 
opinion  was  expressed,  that  it  would  be  better  to  do  him  a  manifest 
injustice,  and  again  annul  the  whole  affair,  than  show  him  justice 
in  such  a  small  matter  merely  to  gratify  his  mad  obstinacy,  espe- 
cially as  such  justice  would  only  be  the  reward  of  his  deeds  of 
violence.  Even  the  chancellor  himself,  to  complete  the  destruction 
of  poor  Kohlhaas,  with  his  over-strained  notions  of  justice,  and  his 
obvious  hatred  of  the  Von  Tronka  family,  contributed  to  the  propa- 
gation and  confirmation  of  this  view.  It  was  highly  improbable 
that  the  horses,  which  were  now  in  the  custody  of  the  knacker  of 
Dresden,  could  be  restored  to  that  condition  in  which  they  left  the 
stable  at  Kohlhaasenbriick,  but  even  suppose  art  and  constant 
attention  could  effect  as  much,  the  disgrace  which  under  the  cir- 
cumstances fell  upon  the  squire's  family  was  so  great,  that  con- 
sidering its  political  importance  as  one  of  the  first  and  noblest 
families  in  the  land,  nothing  appeared  more  suitable  than  to  pro- 
pose a  compensation  for  the  horses  in  money.  The  chancellor 
having  some  days  afterwards  received  a  letter  from  the  president 
Kallheim,  who  made  this  proposition  in  the  name  of  the  disabled 
chamberlain,  wrote  to  Kohlhaas,  advising  him  not  to  refuse  such  an 
offer  in  case  it  should  be  made  to  him.  Nevertheless  he  returned 
a  short  and  not  very  civil  answer  to  the  president,  in  which  he  re- 
quested him  to  spare  him  all  private  commissions  of  the  kind, 
advising  the  chamberlain  to  apply  to  the  horse-dealer  himself,  whom 
he  described  a  very  honest  and  modest  man.  Kohlhaas's  reso- 
lution was  already  weakened  by  the  occurrence  in  the  market-place, 
and  following  the  advice  of  the  chancellor,  he  only  waited  for 
overtures  on  the  part  of  the  squire  or  his  connections  readily  to 
meet  them  with  a  full  pardon  for  all  that  had  past.  But  the 
knights'  pride  was  too  sensitive  to  allow  them  to  make  such  over- 
tures, and  highly  indignant  at  the  answer  they  had  received  from 
the  chancellor,  they  showed  the  letter  to  the  elector,  who  on  the 
following  morning  visited  the  chamberlain  as  he  still  lay  ill  of  his 
wounds  in  his  room.  With  a  weak  and  plaintive  voice,  the  in- 
valid asked  him  whether,  when  he  had  already  risked  his  life  to 
settle  this  matter  according  to  his  wishes,  he  should  now  expose  his 
honour  to  the  censure  of  the  world,  and  appear  with  a  request  for 


204  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

indulgence  before  a  man,  who  had  brought  all  imaginable  shame 
upon  him  and  his  family.  The  elector  having  read  through  the 
letter,  asked  Count  Kallheim,  with  some  confusion,  whether  the 
tribunal  would  not  be  justified  in  taking  its  ground  with  Kohlhaas 
on  the  circumstance  that  the  horses  could  not  be  restored,  and 
then  in  decreeing  a  mere  compensation  in  money  as  if  they  were 
dead.  The  count  replied,  "  Gracious  sir,  they  are  dead ! — dead  in 
the  legal  sense  of  the  word,  because  they  have  no  value,  and  they 
will  be  physically  dead  before  they  can  be  removed  from  the  flayer's 
yard  to  the  knight's  stables." 

Upon  this  the  elector  putting  up  the  letter,  said  that  he  would 
speak  about  it  to  the  chancellor,  consoled  the  chamberlain,  who 
arose  in  his  bed  and  thankfully  seized  his  hand,  and  after  he  had 
told  him  to  take  every  care  of  his  health,  rose  very  graciously  from 
his  chair,  and  took  his  leave. 

Thus  stood  matters  in  Dresden,  while  another  storm  still  more 
formidable  was  gathering  over  poor  Kohlhaas  from  Liitzen,  and  the 
spiteful  knights  had  tact  enough  to  draw  down  its  flashes  upon  his 
unlucky  head.  John  Nagelschmidt,  one'  of  the  men  collected  by 
Kohlhaas,  and  dismissed  after  the  appearance  of  the  amnesty,  had 
thought  fit  a  few  weeks  afterwards  to  assemble  anew  a  portion  of  the 
rabble  who  were  disposed  for  any  outrage,  and  to  carry  on  the  trade 
into  which  Kohlhaas  had  initiated  him  on  his  own  account.  This 
worthless  fellow,  partly  to  frighten  the  officers  by  whom  he  was  pur- 
sued, partly  to  induce  the  peasantry  after  the  ordinary  fashion  to 
take  part  in  his  misdeeds,  called  himself  vicegerent  to  Kohlhaas,  and 
spread  a  report  with  the  cunning  he  had  learned  from  his  master, 
that  the  amnesty  had  not  been  kept  with  many  men,  who  had  re- 
turned quietly  to  their  homes — nay  that  Kohlhaas  himself,  by  a 
shameful  violation  of  faith,  had  been  imprisoned  immediately  on  his 
arrival  at  Dresden,  and  had  been  consigned  to  the  care  of  a  guard. 
In  placards,  quite  similar  to  those  of  Kohlhaas,  he  made  his"  band 
of  incendiaries  appear  as  a  warlike  force,  raised  solely  for  the  honour 
of  God,  with  the  mission  of  seeing  that  the  amnesty  granted  by  the 
elector  was  properly  carried  out.  The  whole  affair,  as  we  have  already 
said,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  honour  of  God,  nor  with  any  at- 
tachment to  Kohlhaas,  about  whose  fate  the  fellow  was  totally  in- 
different, but  he  merely  intended  under  the  protection  of  devices 
to  burn  and  plunder  with  greater  impunity.  The  knights,  as  soon 
as  the  news  of  this  occurrence  reached  Dresden,  could  scarcely  conceal 
their  joy  at  the  entirely  new  turn  which  it  gave  to  the  whole  affair. 
With  sagacious  and  dissatisfied  side-glances  they  alluded  to  the 
mistake  that  had  been  made  in  granting  Kohlhaas  the  amnesty  in 
spite  of  all  their  warnings,  just  as  if  for  the  sake  of  encouraging 
rascals  of  every  kind  to  follow  in  his  steps.  Not  contented  with  giving 
credence  to  Nagelschmidt's  pretext,  that  he  had  taken  up  arms  solely 
for  the  support  and  defence  of  his  oppressed  master,  they  plainly  ex- 
pressed their  opinion  that  the  whole  enterprise  was  devised  by  Kohl- 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  205 

haas  to  intimidate  the  government,  and  thus  to  hurry  on  the  decree 
and  render  it  completely  conformable  to  his  obstinate  will.  Nay,  the 
cupbearer  went  so  far  as  to  say  to  a  party  of  hunting  squires  and  cour- 
tiers, who,  after  their  meal,  had  assembled  in  the  elector's  anteroom, 
that  the  disbanding  of  the  gang  of  robbers  at  L'utzen  was  a  mere  feint; 
and  while  he  laughed  much  at  the  chancellor's  love  of  justice,  he 
showed  from  many  circumstances  clearly  combined,  that  the  troop 
existed  now  just  as  much  as  before,  in  the  woods  of  the  electorate, 
and  merely  waited  for  a  signal  from  the  horse-dealer  to  break  out 
anew  with  fire  and  sword.  Prince  Christian  of  Misnia,  very  much 
displeased  at  this  new  turn  of  affairs,  which  threatened  seriously  to 
sully  the  fame  of  his  sovereign,  immediately  went  to  the  castle  to 
see  him,  and  clearly  perceiving  that  it  was  the  interest  of  the  knights 
to  crush  Kohlhaas  if  possible  on  the  ground  of  new  misdeeds,  he  asked 
leave  to  examine  him  at  once.  The  horse-dealer  somewhat  surprised, 
was  conducted  to  the  seat  of  government  (  Gubernium)  by  an  officer, 
with  his  two  little  boys,  Henry  and  Leopold  in  his  arms,  for  his 
man  Sternbald  had  returned  the  day  before  with  his  five  children 
from  Mecklenburg,  where  they  had  been  staying,  and  thoughts  of 
various  kinds,  which  it  would  be  tedious  to  unravel,  determined  him 
to  take  with  him  to  the  examination  the  two  boys,  who,  in  tears 
begged  to  accompany  him,  as  they  saw  him  depart.  The  prince,  after 
looking  kindly  at  the  children,  whom  Kohlhaas  had  seated  beside 
him,  and  asking  their  names  and  ages  in  a  friendly  manner,  disclosed 
to  him  the  liberties  which  Nagelschmidt,  his  former  servant,  had 
allowed  himself  in  the  valleys  of  the  Erzgebirg,  and  while  he  showed 
him  what  the  fellow  called  his  mandates,  requested  him  to  state 
what  he  could  in  his  own  justification. 

Shocked  as  the  horse-dealer  was  at  the  scandalous  papers,  he 
nevertheless  had  but  little  difficulty  in  the  presence  of  such  an 
upright  man  as  the  prince,  in  showing  how  groundless  were  the 
accusations  that  had  been  brought  against  him.  Not  only,  as  he 
said,  was  he,  under  the  circumstances,  far  from  requiring  any  assist- 
ance from  a  third  party,  to  bring  his  suit  to  a  decision,  seeing  that 
it  was  going  on  as  well  as  possible,  but  some  letters  which  he  had 
with  him,  and  which  he  produced  to  the  prince,  plainly  showed 
the  impossibility  of  Nagelschmidt  being  willing  to  give  him  the 
assistance  in  question,  since  shortly  before  he  had  disbanded  his 
troop,  he  had  been  going  to  hang  the  fellow  for  acts  of  violence  in 
the  flat  country.  Indeed  he  had  only  been  saved  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  electoral  amnesty,  which  had  broken  off  all  the  connec- 
tion between  them,  and  they  had  parted  the  day  after  as  mortal 
enemies.  Kohlhaas,  on  his  own  proposal,  which  was  accepted  by 
the  prince,  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Nagelschmidt,  in  which 
he  called  the  pretext  of  supporting  the  amnesty,  granted  to  him 
and  his  troop,  and  afterwards  broken,  a  shameful  arid  wicked  in- 
vention; and  told  him  that  on  arriving  at  Dresden  he  was  neither 
arrested  nor  consigned  to  a  guard,  that  his  suit  was  proceeding 


206  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

quite  according  to  his  wishes,  and  that  he  gave  him  up  to  the  full 
vengeance  of  the  laws  as  a  warning  to  the  rabble  around  him  for 
the  incendiarisms  he  had  committed  in  the  Erzgebirg,  after  the 
publication  of  the  amnesty.  At  the  same  time  some  fragments  of 
the  criminal  proceedings,  which  the  horse-dealer  had  set  on  foot 
against  the  man  at  the  Castle  of  Liitzen,  for  the  misdeeds  above 
alluded  to,  were  subjoined  to  enlighten  the  people,  as  to  the  good- 
for-nothing  fellow,  who  had  been  sentenced  to  the  gallows,  and  had 
only  been  saved  by  the  elector's  patent.  The  prince,  satisfied  by  these 
acts,  calmed  Kohlhaas,  as  to  the  suspicion  which  they  had  been  forced 
to  express  under  the  circumstances,  assured  him  that  so  long  as  he 
continued  in  Dresden,  the  amnesty  granted  him  should  remain  un- 
broken, once  more  shook  hands  with  the  boys,  to  whom  he  gave  the 
fruit  that  was  on  the  table,  and  dismissed  him.  The  chancellor,  who 
likewise  perceived  the  danger  that  impended  over  the  horse-dealer^  did 
his  utmost  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  conclusion  before  it  became  en- 
tangled and  complicated  by  new  events.  Strange  to  say,  the  cunning 
knights  desired  and  aimed  at  the  same  thing,  and  instead  of  tacitly 
confessing  the  crime  as  before,  and  limiting  the  opposition  to  a  mitiga- 
tion of  the  sentence,  they  now  began  with  all  sorts  of  chicanery  to  deny 
the  crime  itself.  Now  they  gave  out  that  the  horses  had  merely  been 
kept  at  the  Tronkenburg  by  the  act  of  the  castellan  and  the  bailiff, 
of  which  the  squire  knew  little  or  nothing;  now  they  asserted  that 
the  beasts  were  sick  of  a  violent  and  dangerous  cough  immediately 
after  their  arrival,  appealing  to  witnesses  whom  they  promised  to 
produce;  and  when  they  were  beaten  out  of  the  field  with  their 
arguments  by  inquiries  and  explanations,  they  brought  an  electoral 
edict,  in  which  twelve  years  before,  on  account  of  prevailing  dis- 
temper among  cattle,  the  introduction  of  horses  from  Brandenburg 
into  Saxony  was  prohibited.  This  was  to  prove  that  the  squire  was 
not  only  authorised  but  actually  bound  to  detain  the  horses  brought 
by  Kohlhaas  over  the  border.  Kohlhaas,  who  in  the  meanwhile  had 
repurchased  his  farm  of  the  good  farmer  at  Kohlhaasenbriick  for  a 
small  sum,  wished,  as  it  appears,  for  the  purpose  of  finally  complet- 
ing this  transaction,  to  leave  Dresden  for  a  few  days,  and  to  travel 
home  ; — a  resolution  in  which,  however,  we  doubt  not  the  alleged 
business,  important  as  it  might  be  on  account  of  the  winter  sowing 
time,  had  less  part  than  the  wish  to  examine  his  situation  under  cir- 
cumstances so  remarkable  and  so  critical.  Reasons  of  another  kind, 
which  we  leave  to  the  surmise  of  every  one  who  knows  the  secrets 
of  his  own  heart,  might  also  have  operated.  lie  therefore  went  to  the 
high -chancellor,  without  the  guard,  and  having  the  farmer's  letters 
in  his  hand,  stated  that  if  his  presence  at  the  court  could  be  dispensed 
with,  as  indeed  seemed  to  be  the  case,  he  wished  to  leave  the  city 
and  go  to  Brandenburg  for  eight  days  or  a  fortnight,  promising 
to  return  within  that  time.  The  high-chancellor,  looking  on  the 
ground  with  a  dubious  and  displeased  countenance,  said  that  his  pre- 
sence was  now  more  necessary  than  ever,  since  the  court,  in  conse- 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  207 

qucnce  of  the  crafty  and  quibbling  objections  of  the  opposite  party, 
would  require  his  explanation  in  a  thousand  cases,  which  had  not 
been  foreseen.  However,  when  Kohlhaas  referred  him  to  his  ad- 
vocate, who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  merits  of  the  case,  and 
urgently  though  modestly  still  adhered  to  his  request,  promising  to 
limit  his  absence  to  eight  days,  the  high  chancellor  said,  after  a  pause, 
as  he  dismissed  him,  that  he  hoped  he  would  obtain  passports  of  Prince 
Christian  of  Misnia.  Kohlhaas,  who  perfectly  understood  the  chan- 
cellor's countenance,  sat  down  at  once  confirmed  in  his  resolution,  and 
asked  the  Prince  of  Misnia,  as  chief  minister,  without  assigning  any 
reason,  to  give  him  passports  to  Kohlhaasenbriick  for  eight  days.  To 
this  request  he  received  an  official  answer,  signed  by  Baron  Siegfried 
von  Wenk,  governor  of  the  castle,  stating  that  his  petition  for  pass- 
ports to  Kohlhaasenbriick  had  been  laid  before  the  elector,  and  that 
as  soon  as  consent  was  obtained,  they  would  be  forwarded  to  him. 
Kohlhaas  asked  his  advocate  how  it  was  that  this  paper  was  signed 
by  a  Baron  Siegfried  von  Wenk,  and  not  by  Prince  Christian  of  Misnia, 
whereupon  he  was  informed  that  the  prince  had  gone  to  his  estates  three 
days  before,  and  that  the  affairs  of  office  had  been  entrusted  during 
his  absence,  to  Baron  Siegfried  von  Wenk,  governor  of  the  castle, 
and  cousin  to  the  gentleman  who  has  been  previously  mentioned. 

Kohlhaas,  whose  heart  began  to  beat  uneasily  under  all  these 
circumstances,  waited  several  days  for  an  answer  to  his  petition 
which  had  been  brought  before  the  elector  with  singular  prolixity ; 
but  a  week  passed,  and  another  and  another,  and  he  had  neither 
got  an  answer  nor  had  the  tribunal  come  to  a  decision  of  his  case, 
definitely  as  it  had  been  announced.  Therefore,  on  the  twelfth  day, 
fully  determined  to  know  the  disposition  of  the  government  to- 
wards him,  whatever  it  might  be,  he  sent  another  pressing  appli- 
cation to  the  ministry  for  the  passport.  But  how  surprised  he  was, 
when  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day  (which  had  likewise 
passed  away  without  the  expected  answer),  as  he  stepped  towards 
the  window  of  his  back  room,  deeply  occupied  in  pondering  over 
his  situation,  and  especially  on  the  amnesty  which  Dr.  Luther  had 
obtained  for  him,  he  did  not  see  the  guards  who  had  been  given 
him  by  the  Prince  of  Misnia  in  the  little  outhouse  which  had  been 
assigned  as  their  abode.  The  old  servant  Thomas  whom  he  called, 
and  of  whom  he  asked  what  this  meant,  answered  with  a  sigh, 
"  Master,  all  is  not  as  it  should  be!  The  soldiers,  of  whom  there 
are  more  than  usual  to-day,  dispersed  themselves  over  the  whole 
house  as  night  advanced.  Two  are  standing  with  spear  and  shield 
in  the  street  before  the  front  door,  two  in  the  garden  at  the  back 
door,  and  two  others  are  lying  on  a  heap  of  straw  in  the  anteroom, 
where  they  say  they  intend  to  sleep."  Kohlhaas,  who  changed 
colour,  turned  round  and  said  it  was  just  the  same  to  him  whether 
they  were  there  or  not,  and  that  as  soon  as  he  got  to  the  passage  he 
should  set  up  a  light  that  the  soldiers  might  see. 

Under  the  pretext  of  emptying  a  vessel  he  opened  the  front  shutter 


208  MICHAEL  KOIILHAAS. 

and  convinced  himself  that  the  old  man  had  spoken  the  truth ;  for 
the  guard  had  just  been  quietly  relieved,  a  measure  which  never 
had  been  thought  of  before.  This  ascertained  he  lay  down  in  his 
bed,  little  inclined  to  sleep,  and  with  his  mind  thoroughly  made  up 
as  to  what  he  should  do  the  next  day.  Nothing  on  the  part  of  the 
government  was  more  displeasing  to  him  than  the  empty  show  of 
justice,  while,  in  fact,  the  amnesty  was  broken;  and  in  case  he  was 
a  prisoner,  about  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  doubt,  he  wished  to 
compel  the  government  to  declare  it  clearly  and  without  ambi- 
guity. Therefore,  at  the  dawn  of  the  following  day,  he  had  his 
vehicle  brought  up,  and  the  horses  put  to  it  by  Sternbald  his  ser- 
vant, to  go,  as  he  said,  to  the  farmer  at  Lockewitz,  who  had  spoken 
to  him  a  few  days  before  at  Dresden  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and 
had  invited  him  to  pay  him  a  visit  with  his  children.  The  soldiers, 
who  were  laying  their  heads  together,  and  perceived  the  move- 
ments in  the  house,  sent  one  of  their  number  privily  into  the  town, 
whereupon  in  a  few  minutes  an  officer  of  the  government  appeared, 
at  the  head  of  several  men,  and  went  into  the  opposite  house,  as  if 
he  had  something  to  do  there.  Kohlhaas  who,  as  he  was  occupied 
with  dressing  his  boys,  witnessed  their  movements,  and  designedly 
kept  his  vehicle  before  the  house  longer  than  was  necessary,  went 
out  with  his  children,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  the  police  had  com- 
pleted their  preparations,  without  taking  any  notice,  and  telling  the 
soldiers  at  the  door  as  he  passed  them,  that  they  need  not  follow 
him,  he  took  the  boys  into  the  cart,  and  kissed  and  consoled  the 
little  crying  girls,  who,  in  conformity  with  his  orders,  remained 
with  the  daughter  of  the  old  servant.  He  had  scarcely  mounted 
the  cart  himself,  when  the  officer  came  up  to  him  with  his  train  from 
the  opposite  house,  and  asked  him  where  he  was  going.  Kohlhaas 
answering  that  he  was  going  to  see  his  friend  the  farmer  at 
Lockewitz,  who  had  some  days  before  invited  him  into  the  country 
with  his  boys,  the  officer  said  that  in  that  case  he  must  wait  a 
few  moments,  as  some  horse-soldiers,  by  the  command  of  the  Prince 
of  Misnia,  would  have  to  accompany  him. 

Kohlhaas  asked  him,  smiling  from  the  cart,  whether  he  thought  his 
person  would  not  be  safe  in  the  house  of  a  friend,  who  had  invited  him  to 
his  table  for  a  day.  The  officer  answered  pleasantly  and  cheerfully 
enough,  that  the  danger  was  certainly  not  great,  and  added  that  he 
would  find  the  men  by  no  means  burdensome.  Kohlhaas  replied, 
seriously,  that  when  he  first  came  to  Dresden,  the  Prince  of  Misnia 
had  left  it  quite  free  to  him  whether  he  would  avail  himself  of  the 
guard  or  not,  and  when  the  officer  expressed  his  surprise  at  this  cir- 
cumstance, and  referred  to  the  custom  which  had  prevailed  during 
the  whole  of  Kohlhaas's  residence  at  Dresden,  the  horse-dealer  told 
him  of  the  occurrence  which  had  led  to  the  appointment  of  a  guard 
in  his  house.  The  officer  assured  him  that  the  order  of  the  Baron 
von  Wenk,  governor  of  the  castle,  who  was  at  present  head  of  the 
police,  made  the  constant  guard  of  his  person  an  imperative  duty, 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  209 

and  begged  him,  if  it  was  unpleasant  to  be  so  attended,  to  go  to  the 
seat  of  government  himself,  and  rectify  the  error  which  seemed  to 
prevail  there.  Kohlhaas,  darting  an  expressive  look  at  the  officer, 
and  determined  either  to  bend  or  to  break  the  matter,  said  that  he 
would  do  this,  descended  with  a  beating  heart  from  the  cart,  had  his 
children  carried  into  the  passage  by  the  servant,  and  repaired  with 
the  officer  and  his  guard  to  the  seat  of  government,  leaving  the 
man  with  the  vehicle  in  front  of  the  house.  It  chanced  that  Baron 
von  Wenk  was  engaged  in  the  examination  of  a  band  of  Nagel- 
schmidt's  men,  which  had  been  captured  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Leipzig,  and  had  been  brought  in  the  evening  before,  and  that  these 
fellows  were  being  questioned  on  many  matters  which  would 
willingly  have  been  heard  by  the  knights  who  were  with  the  baron 
when  the  horse-dealer  and  those  who  attended  him  entered  the  room. 
The  baron  no  sooner  saw  him,  than  he  went  up  to  him,  while  the 
knights  became  suddenly  silent,  and  ceased  their  examination,  and 
asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

The  horse-dealer  respectively  stating  his  project  of  dining  with  the 
farmer  in  Lockewitz,  and  his  wish  to  leave  behind  the  soldiers,  whom 
he  did  not  require,  the  baron  changed  colour,  and  seeming  as 
if  he  suppressed  another  speech,  said  that  his  best  plan  would  be 
to  stop  quietly  at  home,  and  put  off  the  dinner  with  the  Locke- 
witz farmer.  Then  cutting  short  the  conversation,  and  turning  to 
the  officer  he  told  him,  that  the  command  which  he  had  given 
him  with  respect  to  Kohlhaas,  was  to  remain  as  before,  and  that 
he  was  not  to  leave  the  city,  except  under  the  guard  of  six  horse- 
men. Kohlhaas  asked  whether  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  whether  he 
was  to  believe  that  the  amnesty  solemnly  granted  him  in  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  world  was  broken ;  whereupon  the  baron,  suddenly  be- 
coming as  red  as  tire,  turned  to  him,  and  walking  close  up  to  him, 
looked  full  in  his  eyes,  and  answered,  "  Yes,  yes,  yes !"  He  then 
turned  his  back  upon  him,  left  him  standing,  and  again  went  to 
Nagelschmidt's  men. 

Kohlhaas  then  quitted  the  room,  and  although  he  saw  that  the 
only  course  left  for  him,  namely,  flight,  was  rendered  difficult 
by  the  steps  which  he  had  taken,  he  nevertheless  concluded  he 
had  acted  rightly,  as  he  now  saw  he  was  free  from  all  obligation 
to  conform  to  the  articles  of  the  amnesty.  When  he  reached 
home,  he  ordered  the  horses  to  be  taken  from  the  cart,  and  accom- 
panied by  the  officer  entered  his  chamber  very  much  dispirited. 
This  officer,  in  a  manner  which  greatly  disgusted  him,  assured  him 
that  all  turned  on  a  misunderstanding  which  would  soon  be  cleared 
up,  while  his  men,  at  a  sign  which  he  gave  them,  fastened  up  all 
the  outlets  that  led  into  the  yard.  The  front  entrance,  as  the  officer 
assured  Kohlhaas,  was  open  to  his  use  as  before. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Nagelschmidt  was  so  hampered  on  all  sides  by 
soldiers  and  officers  of  the  law  in  the  woods  of  the  Erzgebirge,  that 
being  utterly  destitute  of  means  to  carry  out  the  part  he  had  chosen, 

p 


210  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

he  hit  upon  the  thought  of  really  drawing  Kohlhaas  into  his  interest. 
He  had  learned  with  tolerable  accuracy,  through  a  traveller  who  passed 
on  the  road,  the  state  of  the  suit  at  Dresden,  and  was  of  opinion, 
that  in  spite  of  the  open  hostility  which  existed  between  them,  it 
would  be  possible  to  induce  the  horse-dealer  to  enter  into  a  new  al- 
liance with  him.  He  therefore  sent  a  man  to  him,  with  a  scarcely 
legible  letter,  to  the  effect,  that  if  he  would  come  to  the  Altenburg 
territory,  and  resume  the  conduct  of  the  band,  who  had  assembled 
there,  out  of  the  relics  of  the  one  that  had  been  dismissed,  he  would 
furnish  him  with  horses,  men,  and  money,  to  assist  him  in  flying 
from  his  prison  at  Dresden.  At  the  same  time,  he  promised  to  be 
better  and  more  obedient  in  future  than  he  had  been ;  and  to  prove 
his  fidelity  and  devotion,  he  offered  to  come  to  Dresden  himself  and 
effect  Kohlhaas's  liberation.  Now  the  fellow  to  whom  this  letter  was 
entrusted  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  convulsions  of  a  dangerous 
sort,  such  as  he  had  been  subject  to  from  his  youth,  close  to  Dresden, 
and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  letter  which  he  carried  in  his 
doublet,  was  discovered  by  people  who  came  to  assist  him,  and  that 
he  himself,  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered,  was  arrested,  and  removed 
to  the  seat  of  government,  attended  by  a  numerous  guard.  The 
Governor  von  Wenk  had  no  sooner  read  the  letter  than  he  hastened 
to  the  elector,  in  whose  castle  he  found  the  two  von  Tronkas  (the 
chamberlain  having  recovered  of  his  wounds)  and  Count  Kallheim, 
president  of  the  chancery.  These  gentlemen  were  of  opinion,  that 
Kohlhaas  should  be  arrested  without  delay,  and  prosecuted  on  the 
ground  of  a  secret  understanding  with  Nagelschmidt,  since,  as  they 
attempted  to  prove,  such  a  letter  could  not  have  been  written,  had 
not  others  been  previously  sent  by  the  horse-dealer,  and  had  not 
some  criminal  compact  been  formed,  for  the  perpetration  of  new 
atrocities.  The  elector  firmly  refused  to  violate  the  free  conduct 
which  he  had  granted  to  Kohlhaas,  on  the  mere  ground  of  this  letter. 
Nay,  according  to  his  opinion,  it  rather  showed,  that  no  previous 
communication  had  existed  between  Kohlhaas  and  Nagelschmidt, 
and  all  that  he  would  resolve  upon,  and  that  after  much  delay,  was 
that,  according  to  the  suggestion  of  the  president,  the  letter  should 
be  sent  to  Kohlhaas  by  Nagelschmidt's  man,  just  as  if  the  fellow  was 
perfectly  at  liberty,  and  that  then  it  should  be  seen  whether  Kohl- 
haas would  answer  it.  The  man,  who  had  been  put  in  prison,  was 
accordingly  brought  to  the  scat  of  government  on  the  following 
morning,  when  the  governor  of  the  castle  restored  him  his  letter, 
and,  promising  that  he  should  be  free,  and  exempt  from  the  punish- 
ment he  had  incurred,  told  him  to  give  it  to  the  horse-dealer  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Without  more  ado,  the  fellow  lent  himself 
to  the  mean  stratagem,  and  as  if  by  stealth,  entered  Kohlhaas's  room 
on  the  pretext  of  selling  some  crabs,  with  which  the  officer  had  pro- 
vided him  in  the  market-place.  Kohlhaas,  who  read  the  letter  while 
the  children  played  with  the  crabs,  would  certainly,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, have  tnkcu  the  fellow  by  the  collar,  and  delivered  him 


MICHAEL  KOHLIIA  AS.  211 

up  to  the  soldiers,  who  stood  at  Ms  door,  but  as,  in  tlie  present 
disposition  of  people  towards  him,  such  a  step  might  be  inter- 
preted in  more  than  one  way,  and  he  was  fully  convinced  that 
nothing  in  the  world  could  help  him  out  of  the  difficulty  in  which 
he  was  placed,  he  looked  mournfully  at  the  fellow's  well-known 
face,  asked  him  where  he  lived,  and  ordered  him  to  come  again  in 
an  hour  or  two,  when  he  would  communicate  the  resolution  he  had 
taken  with  respect  to  his  master.  He  told  Sternbald,  who  chanced 
to  enter  the  room,  to  buy  some  crabs  of  the  fellow  he  found  there,  and 
this  having  been  done,  and  the  two  men  having  parted  without  re- 
cognition, he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Nagelschmidt  to  the 
following  effect:  In  the  first  place  he  accepted  his  offer  of  the 
command  of  the  band  in  Altenburg,  and  in  the  next  told  him  to  send 
him  a  waggon  with  two  horses  to  the  Neustadt  by  Dresden,  to  free 
him  from  the  temporary  prison  in  which  he  was  placed  with  his 
children.  Two  horses  more,  he  said,  for  the  sake  of  speed  would  be 
wanted  on  the  road  to  Wittenberg,  by  which  circuitous  route,  for 
certain  reasons,  too  long  to  specify,  he  could  alone  come  to  him. 
He  represented  the  soldiers  who  guarded  him  as  open  to  bribery,  but 
nevertheless,  in  case  force  should  be  necessary,  he  desired  the  pre- 
sence of  a  few,  stout,  active,  well-armed  fellows  in  the  Neustadt.  To 
defray  the  expenses  of  all  these  preparations  he  would  send  by  the 
man  a  rouleau  containing  twenty  gold  crowns,  about  the  expenditure 
of  which  he  would  come  to  an  account  with  him  when  the  affair  was 
settled.  His  presence  in  Dresden  on  the  occasion  of  his  liberation 
he  prohibited  as  unnecessary,  nay,  he  gave  the  express  order  that  he 
should  remain  in  the  territory  of  Altenburg,  as  the  temporary  leader 
of  the  band,  which  could  not  well  do  without  a  captain.  When 
the  messenger  came  towards  the  evening  he  gave  him  this  letter,  and 
rewarding  him  liberally,  exhorted  him  to  take  the  greatest  care  of  it. 
His  design  was  to  proceed  to  Hamburg  with  his  five  children,  and 
there  to  embark  for  the  Levant  or  the  East  Indies,  or  as  far  as  the 
sky  might  cover  other  men  than  those  he  knew,  for  his  soul,  which 
was  now  bowed  down  with  grief,  had  given  up  the  notion  of 
getting  the  horses,  to  say  nothing  of  his  repugnance  to  make  a  com- 
mon cause  with  Nagelschmidt. 

Scarcely  had  the  fellow  delivered  this  answer  to  the  castellan  than 
the  high  chancellor  was  removed,  the  president,  Count  Kallheim,  was 
appointed  chief  of  the  tribunal  in  his  stead,  and  Kohlhaas,  being 
arrested  by  a  cabinet  order  of  the  elector,  was  thrown  into  the  city 
prison,  heavily  laden  with  chains.  Proceedings  were  commenced 
against  him  on  the  ground  of  the  letter,  which  was  posted  up  at  all 
the  corners  of  the  town;  and  when,  before  the  bar  of  the  tribunal,  to 
the  question  of  the  counsel,  who. presented  him  this  letter,  whether  he 
recognised  the  handwriting,  he  answered  "  Yes,"  but  to  the  question 
whether  he  had  any  thing  to  say  in  his  defence,  he  with  downcast 
eyes  answered  "No."  He  was  condemned  to  have  his  flesh  torn  with 

P2 


212  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

red-hot  pincers,  and  his  body  quartered  and  burned  between  the 
wheel  and  the  gallows. 

Thus  stood  matters  with  poor  Kohlhaas  in  Dresden,  when  the 
Elector  of  Brandenburg  appeared  to  rescue  him  from  the  hands  of 
arbitrary  power  and  claimed  him  as  a  Brandenburg  subject  in  the 
electoral  chancery,  through  a  note  sent  for  that  purpose.  For  the 
brave  Captain  Heinrich  von  Geusau  had  told  him,  during  a  walk  on 
the  banks  of  the  Spree,  the  history  of  this  strange  and  not  utterly 
abandoned  man.  On  this  occasion,  urged  by  the  questions  of  the 
astonished  elector,  he  could  not  avoid  mentioning  the  wrong  which 
had  been  done  to  his  own  person,  through  the  improper  acts  of  the 
high  chancellor,  Count  Siegfried  von  Kallheim.  The  elector,  being 
highly  indignant  at  this,  demanded  an  explanation  of  the  high  chan- 
cellor, and  finding  that  his  relationship  to  the  house  of  Tronka  had 
been  the  cause  of  all  the  mischief,  dismissed  him  at  once  with  many 
signs  of  displeasure,  and  appointed  Heinrich  von  Geusau  chancellor 
in  his  place. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  kingdom  of  Poland,  while  for  some 
cause  or  other  it  was  in  a  hostile  position  against  Saxony,  made  re- 
peated and  pressing  demands  to  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  to  unite 
against  Saxony  in  one  common  cause.  This  led  the  High  Chan- 
cellor Geusau,  who  was  no  novice  in  such  matters,  to  hope  that  he 
could  fulfil  his  sovereign's  wish  of  doing  justice  to  Kohlhaas  at  any 
price,  without  placing  the  general  peace  in  a  more  critical  position  than 
the  consideration  due  to  an  individual  would  justify.  Hence  the 
high  chancellor,  alleging  that  the  proceedings  had  been  arbitrary, 
and  alike  displeasing  to  God  and  man,  not  only  demanded  the  im- 
mediate and  unconditional  delivery  of  Kohlhaas,  that  in  case  he  was 
guilty  he  might  be  tried  according  to  Brandenburg  laws,  on  a  com- 
plaint which  the  court  of  Dresden  might  make  through  an  attorney 
at  Berlin,  but  also  required  passports  for  an  attorney  whom  the  elector 
wished  to  send  to  Dresden,  to  obtain  justice  for  Kohlhaas  against 
Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka,  on  account  of  the  wrong  which  had 
been  done  the  former,  on  Saxon  soil,  by  the  detention  of  his  horses 
and  other  acts  of  violence  which  cried  aloud  to  Heaven.  The  cham- 
berlain, Herr  Conrad,  who  on  the  change  of  office  in  Saxony  had 
been  nominated  president  of  the  state  chancery,  and  who  for  many 
reasons  did  not  wish  to  offend  the  court  of  Berlin,  in  the  difficulty  in 
which  he  now  found  himself,  answered  in  the  name  of  his  sovereign, 
who  was  much  dejected  at  the  note  he  had  received,  that  the  un- 
friendly and  unfair  spirit  in  which  the  right  of  the  court  of  Dresden 
to  try  Kohlhaas,  according  to  law,  for  offences  committed  in  the 
country,  had  been  questioned,  had  created  great  astonishment, especially 
when  it  was  well  known  that  he  held  a  large  piece  of  ground  in  the 
Saxon  metropolis,  and  did  not  deny  that  he  was  a  Saxon  citizen.  Never- 
theless, as  Poland  to  enforce  her  claims  had  already  collected  an  army 
of  5000  men  on  the  borders  of  Saxony,  and  the  high  chancellor, 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  213 

Heinrich  von  Geusau,  declared  that  Kohlhaasenbriick,  the  place 
from  which  the  horse-dealer  took  his  name,  lay  in  the  Brandenburg 
territory,  and  that  the  execution  of  the  sentence  of  death  that  had 
been  declared  would  be  considered  a  violation  of  the  law  of  nations, 
the  elector,  by  the  advice  of  the  chamberlain,  Herr  Conrad  himself, 
who  wished  to  retreat  out  of  the  affair,  called  Prince  Christian  of 
Misnia  from  his  estates,  and  was  induced  by  a  few  words  from  this 
intelligent  man  to  deliver  Kohlhaas  to  the  -court  of  Berlin,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  request  that  had  been  made. 

The  prince,  who,  although  he  was  little  pleased  with  the  late  un- 
seemly proceedings,  was  obHged  to  undertake  the  prosecution  of  the 
Kohlhaas  affair,  in  compliance  with  the  wish  of  his  embarrassed 
sovereign,  asked  him  on  what  ground  he  meant  to  prosecute  the 
horse-dealer,  in  the  chamber  council  at  Berlin.  To  the  fatal 
letter  to  Nagelschmidt  reference  could  not  be  made,  so  doubtful 
and  obscure  were  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  written, 
neither  could  the  early  plunderings  and  incendiarisms  be  men- 
tioned on  account  of  the  placards  in  which  they  had  been  par- 
doned. 

The  elector,  therefore,  resolved  to  lay  before  the  Emperor  of 
Vienna  a  statement  of  the  armed  attack  of  Kohlhaas  upon  Saxony, 
to"  complain  of  the  breach  of  the  public  peace,  which  he  had  esta- 
blished, and  to  request  those  who  were  bound  by  no  amnesty  to 
prosecute  Kohlhaas  in  the  Berlin  court  through  an  imperial  prose- 
cutor. 

In  eight  days  the  horse-dealer,  chained  as  he  was,  was  placed  in  a 
cart  and  transported  to  Berlin  with  his  five  children  (who  had  been 
got  together  again  out  of  the  orphan  and  foundling  asylums)  by  the 
knight  Friedrich  von  Malzahn,  whom  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg 
had  sent  to  Dresden  with  six  troopers. 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  at  the  invitation  of 
the  seneschal  (Landdrosf)  Count  Aloysius  von  Kallheim,  who  held 
considerable  property  on  the  borders  of  Saxony,  had  gone  to  Dahme 
to  a  great  hunt,  which  had  been  appointed  for  his  recreation,  accom- 
panied by  the  chamberlain,  Herr  Conrad,  and  his  wife  the  Lady 
Heloise,  daughter  of  the  seneschal  and  sister  of  the  president,  besides 
other  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen,  hunting-attendants,  and  nobles.  All 
this  party,  covered  with  dust  from  hunting,  was  seated  at  table  under 
the  cover  of  some  tents  adorned  with  flags,  which  had  been  set  up 
on  a  hill  right  across  the  road,  waited  upon  by  pages  and  young 
nobles,  and  recreated  by  the  sound  of  cheerful  music,  which  pro- 
ceeded from  the  trunk  of  an  oak,  when  the  horse-dealer,  attended  by 
his  army  of  troopers,  came  slowly  along  the  road  from  Dresden. 

The  sickness  ofoneofKohlhaas's  little  delicate  children  had  com- 
pelled the  Knight  von  Malzahn,  who  accompanied  him,  to  remain  for 
three  days  at  Herzberg — a  fact  which  he  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to 
communicate  to  the  government  at  Dresden,  feeling  that  he  was  only 
responsible  to  his  own  prince.  The  elector,  who  with  his  breast  hall'- 


214  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

uncovered,  and  his  plumed  hat  adorned  with  fir-twigs,  sat  by  the 
Lady  Heloise — his  first  love  in  the  days  of  early  youth — said,  elevated 
by  the  pleasure  of  the  feast,  that  sparkled  round  him:  "  Come  let  us 
give  the  unfortunate  man,  whoever  he  may  be,  this  cup  of  wine !" 
The  Lady  Heloise,  casting  a  noble  glance  at  him,  arose  at  once,  and 
laying  the  whole  table  under  contribution,  filled  a  silver  vessel,  which 
a  page  handed  to  her,  with  fruit,  cakes,  and  bread.  The  whole 
party,  with  refreshments  of  all  kinds,  had  already  thronged  from  the 
tent,  when  the  seneschal  met  them  with  a  confused  countenance 
and  bade  them  stop.  To  the  elector,  who  asked  with  surprise 
what  had  happened  thus  to  confound  the  seneschal,  the  latter 
answered,  stammering  and  with  his  head  turned  towards  the  cham- 
berlain, that  Kohlhaas  was  in  the  cart.  At  this  piece  of  intelligence, 
which  astonished  every  body,  as  it  was  generally  known  that  Kohl- 
haas had  set  off  six  days  before,  the  chamberlain,  Conrad,  took  his 
goblet  of  wine,  and  turning  towards  the  tent  poured  it  into  the  dust. 
The  elector,  deeply  colouring,  placed  his  on  a  salver,  which  a  page 
presented  to  him  for  that  purpose,  at  a  hint  from  the  chamberlain; 
and  while  the  knight  Friedrich  von  Malzahn,  respectfully  greeting 
the  company,  whom  he  did  not  know,  passed  slowly  through  the 
tent-ropes  that  ran  across  the  way,  in  the  direction  of  Dahme,  the 
party,  at  the  invitation  of  the  seneschal,  returned  to  the  tent  without 
taking  further  notice. 

As  soon  as  the  elector  was  seated,  the  seneschal  privately  sent  to 
Dahme  to  warn  the  magistracy  there  to  make  the  horse-dealer  pass 
on  immediately ;  but  as  the  knight  had  declared  his  wish  of  passing 
the  night  in  the  place,  on  the  plea  that  the  day  had  already  advanced 
too  far  to  allow  of  further  travel,  they  were  obliged  to  bring  him 
without  noise  to  a  farm  which  belonged  to  the  magistracy,  and 
which  stood  by  the  road-side  concealed  by  bushes. 

Towards  evening,  when  the  elector's  party  had  forgotten  the  whole 
affair,  their  thoughts  having  been  dissipated  by  the  wine,  and  the 
pleasures  of  a  luxurious  supper,  the  seneschal  proposed  that  they 
should  once  more  start  for  a  herd  of  deer  which  had  made  its  appear- 
ance. The  whole  party  seized  on  the  proposal  with  delight,  and 
armed  with  their  rifles  went  in  pairs  over  hedges  and  ditches  into 
the  adjoining  forest,  and  the  consequence  was  that  the  elector  and 
the  Lady  Heloise,  who  hung  on  his  arm  to  witness  the  spectacle, 
were  to  their  surprise  immediately  conducted  by  a  messenger,  who 
had  been  appointed  to  attend  them,  through  the  court  of  the  very 
house  at  which  Kohlhaas  and  the  Brandenburg  troops  were 
stopping. 

The  lady,  when  she  heard  this,  said:  "Come,  gracious  sove- 
reign, come !"  adding,  as  she  playfully  concealed  in  his  doublet  the 
chain  which  hung  from  his  neck,  u  let  us  slip  into  the  farm,  before 
our  troop  comes  up,  and  see  the  strange  man  who  is  passing  the 
night  there." 

The  elector,  changing  colour,  seized  her  hand  and  said:  "  Heloise, 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS  215 

what  notion  has  possessed  you?"  But  when,  perceiving  his  surprise, 
she  answered  that  no  one  would  recognise  him  in  his  hunting  dress, 
and  also,  at  the  very  same  moment,  two  hunting  attendants,  who 
had  already  satisfied  their  curiosity,  came  out  of  the  house  and  said, 
that  in  consequence  of  an  arrangement  of  the  seneschals,  neither 
the  knight  nor  the  horse-dealer  knew  of  whom  consisted  the  party 
assembled  near  Dahme,  the  elector,  smiling,  pressed  his  hat  over  his 
eyes,  and  said:  u  Folly,  thou  rulest  the  world,  and  thy  throne  is  the 
mouth  of  a  pretty  woman." 

Kohlhaas  was  sitting  on  a  heap  of  straw,  with  his  back  against  the 
wall,  feeding  the  child  that  had  fallen  sick  at  Herzberg,  with  rolls 
and  milk,  when  his  noble  visitors  entered  the  farm-house.  The 
lady,  to  introduce  the  conversation,  asked  him  who  he  was,  what 
was  the  matter  with  the  child,  what  crime  he  had  committed,  and 
whither  they  were  conducting  him  under  such  an  escort.  He  doffed 
his  leather  cap,  and,  without  ceasing  from  his  occupation,  gave  her 
a  short,  but  satisfactory  answer. 

The  elector,  who  stood  behind  the  huntsman,  and  observed  a  little 
leaden  case  that  hung  from  Michael's  neck  by  a  silken  thread,  asked 
him,  as  there  was  nothing  better  to  talk  about,  what  this  meant,  and 
what  was  kept  in  it. 

"  Ah,  your  worship,"  said  Kohlhaas,  detaching  it  from  his  neck, 
opening  it,  and  taking  out  a  little  slip  of  paper  fastened  with  a 
wafer,  "there  is  something  very  peculiar  about  this  case.  It  is 
about  seven  months  ago,  on  the  very  day  after  my  wife's  burial, 
when  I  had  set  out  from  Kohlhaasenbriick,  as  perhaps  you  know,  to 
seize  the  person  of  Squire  von  Tronka,  who  had  done  me  much 
wrong,  that  for  some  negotiation,  unknown  to  me,  the  electors  of 
Saxony  and  Brandenburg  had  a  meeting  in  Jiiterboch,  a  market 
town,  through  which  my  way  led  me.  When  they  had  settled 
every  thing  according  to  their  wishes,  they  went  through  the  streets 
of  the  town,  conversing  in  a  friendly  manner,  that  they  might  see 
the  fair,  which  was  held  with  due  merriment.  Presently  they  came 
to  a  gipsy  woman,  who  sat  upon  a  stool,  and  uttered  prophesies  to 
the  people  who  surrounded  her,  out  of  an  almanack. 

"  This  woman  they  asked,  jestingly,  whether  she  had  any  thing 
pleasant  to  tell  them.  I,  who  had  put  up  at  an  inn,  with  all  my 
band,  and  chanced  to  be  present  at  the  spot  when  this  occurrence 
took  place,  standing  at  the  entrance  to  the  church,  could  not  hear, 
through  the  crowd,  what  the  strange  woman  said  to  the  electors. 
When  the  people  whispered,  laughingly,  in  each  other's  ears,  that 
she  would  not  communicate  her  science  to  any  body,  and  crowded 
thickly  together  on  account  of  the  spectacle  that  was  preparing,  I 
got  upon  a  bench,  which  had  foeen  hewn  out  in  the  entrance  to  the 
church,  not  so  much  because  I  was  curious  myself,  as  because  I  would 
make  way  for  those  that  were.  Scarcely  had  I,  from  this  elevation, 
taken  a  full  survey  of  the  electors  and  the  woman,  who  sat  before 
them  on  the  stool,  and  seemed  to  be  scribbling  something,  than  she 


216  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 


suddenly  raised  herself  on  her  crutches,  and,  looking  round  the  peo- 
ple, fixed  her  eyes  upon  me,  who  had  not  spoken  a  single  word  to 
her,  and  had  never  cared  for  such  sciences  in  my  life. 

"  Pressing  towards  me,  through  the  dense  crowd,  she  said:  l  Ah, 
if  the  gentleman  wishes  to  know,  he  had  better  ask  you.'  Then,  your 
worship,  with  her  dry,  bony  hands  she  gave  me  this  slip.  All  the 
people  turned  round  to  me,  and  I  said,  perfectly  astonished,  '  Why, 
mother — what  sort  of  a  present  is  this?'  After  all  sorts  of  unintel- 
ligible stuff,  among  which,  to  my  great  surprise,  I  heard  my  own 
name,  she  replied,  '  It  is  an  amulet,  thou  horse-dealer,  Kohlhaas, 
keep  it  well,  it  will  one  day  save  thy  life.'  And  so  saying,  she 
vanished.  Now !"  continued  Kohlhaas,  good  humouredly,  "  to  tell 
the  truth,  sharply  as  matters  have  been  going  on  in  Dresden,  they 
have  not  cost  me  my  life ;  and  as  for  Berlin,  the  future  will  show  me 
how  I  get  on  there,  and  whether  I  shall  come  off  well." 

At  these  words  the  elector  seated  himself  on  a  bench,  and,  although 
to  the  inquiry  of  the  astonished  lady,  what  was  the  matter  with  him, 
he  answered,  "  Nothing,  nothing  at  all" — he,  nevertheless,  fell  sense- 
less upon  the  ground,  before  she  had  time  to  run  up  to  him  and 
catch  him  in  her  arms. 

The  Knight  von  Malzahn,  who,  on  some  business  or  other,  en- 
tered the  room  at  this  moment,  said:  "Good  God,  what  ails  the 
gentleman?"  while  the  lady  cried  out,  "Water,  bring  water!" 

The  huntsmen  raised  the  elector  from  the  ground  and  carried  him 
to  a  bed  in  an  adjoining  room,  and  the  consternation  of  all  reached 
its  height,  when  the  chamberlain,  who  had  been  fetched  by  a  page, 
declared,  after  many  futile  endeavours  to  restore  the  elector  to  his 
senses,  that  there  were  all  the  signs  of  apoplexy. 

The  seneschal,  while  the  cup-bearer  sent  a  messenger  on  horse- 
back to  Luckau  to  fetch  a  physician,  caused  the  elector  to  be  placed 
in  a  vehicle,  as  soon  as  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  to  be  taken,  slowly, 
to  his  hunting  castle  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  consequence  of 
this  journey  was  two  fainting  fits  after  his  arrival  at  the  castle,  and 
it  was  late  on  the  following  morning,  when  the  physician  from  Luc- 
kau had  arrived,  that  he  recovered  in  some  degree,  still  with  the 
decided  symptoms  of  an  impending  nervous  fever.  As  soon  as  he 
had  regained  his  senses  he  raised  himself  in  his  bed,  and  his  first  in- 
quiry was  for  Kohlhaas. 

The  chamberlain,  who  misunderstood  his  question,  said,  seizing 
his  hand,  that  he  need  no  longer  trouble  himself  about  this  terrible 
man,  since,  as  had  been  designed,  he  had  remained  at  the  farm  at 
Dahme,  guarded  by  the  Brandenburg  escort,  after  the  sudden  and 
incomprehensible  mischance  which  had  occurred.  Assuring  him  of 
his  warmest  sympathy,  and  also  that  he  had  reproached  his  wife 
most  bitterly  for  her  unwarrantable  heedlessness  in  bringing  him  in 
contact  with  the  man,  he  asked  what  there  was  so  strange  and  mon- 
strous in  the  conversation  to  strike  him  thus. 

The  elector  said  he  could  only  confess  that  the  sight  of  a  worth- 


MICHAEL  KOHLH AAS.  2 1 7 

less  slip  of  paper,  worn  by  the  man  in  a  leaden  case,  had  been  the 
cause  of  the  unpleasant  occurrence.  In  explanation  of  this  circum- 
stance he  uttered  much  which  the  chamberlain  did  not  understand, 
suddenly  assured  him,  as  he  pressed  his  hand,  that  the  possession  of 
this  slip  would  be  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  finally  entreated 
him  to  mount  on  horseback  without  delay,  to  ride  to  Dalheim,  and 
to  purchase  the  slip  from  Kohlhaas  at  any  price. 

The  chamberlain,  who  had  difficulty  in  concealing  his  embar- 
rassment, represented  to  him,  that  if  this  slip  was  of  any  value  to 
him,  it  would  be  absolutely  necessary  to  conceal  the  fact  from 
Kohlhaas,  since,  if  he  got  a  hint  of  it  through  any  heedless  expres- 
sion, all  the  wealth  of  the  elector  would  be  insufficient  to  get  it  out 
of  the  hands  of  a  fellow  so  insatiable  in  his  vengeance.  To  calm 
him,  he  added  that  some  other  means  must  be  devised,  and  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  possible  to  gain  the  slip  to  which  he  attached 
so  much  importance,  by  cunning  and  through  the  medium  of  a  third 
indifferent  party,  as  the  criminal  did  not  set  any  value  on  it. 

The  elector,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  asked 
whether  it  would  not  be  possible  with  this  intent  to  send  to  Dahme, 
and  to  delay  the  further  transport  of  the  horse-dealer  until  the  slip, 
in  some  way  or  other,  was  secured. 

The  chamberlain,  who  could  not  trust  his  senses,  replied  that  in 
all  probability  the  horse-dealer  had  unfortunately  left  Dahme  al- 
ready, and  was  already  over  the  boundary  and  on  Brandenburg 
soil,  where  every  endeavour  to  impede  his  progress,  or  to  turn  him 
back,  must  lead  to  the  most  unpleasant  and  lengthened  difficulties — 
such  difficulties,  indeed,  as  it  might  be  impossible  to  get  over. 

When  the  elector,  with  a  gesture  of  utter  despair,  threw  himself 
back  on  his  cushion  in  silence,  the  chamberlain  asked  him  what  it 
was  that  the  slip  contained,  and  by  what  strange  and  inexplicable 
chance  he  knew  that  the  contents  concerned  him. 

Casting  equivocal  glances  at  the  chamberlain,  whose  willingness 
to  oblige  him  he  doubted,  the  elector  made  no  answer,  but  lay  quite 
stiff,  yet  with  heart  uneasily  beating,  while  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  corner  of  the  handkerchief,  which,  immersed  in  thought,  he 
held  in  his  hands.  All  at  once  he  ordered  him  to  call  into  the 
chamber  the  hunting-page  (Jagd-junker]  Von  Stein,  an  active  and 
sharp-witted  young  gentleman,  whom  he  had  often  employed  on 
secret  affairs,  on  the  pretext  that  he  had  business  to  settle  with 
him  of  quite  a  different  nature. 

After  he  had  set  forth  the  whole  affair  to  this  page,  and  had  in- 
formed him  of  the  importance  of  the  slip,  now  in  the  possession  of 
Kohlhaas,  he  asked  him  whether  he  was  willing  to  earn  an  eternal 
claim  to  his  friendship  by  getting  this  slip  before  Kohlhaas  reached 
Berlin. 

The  pa^e  as  soon  as  he,  in  some  degree,  understood  the  affair, 
strange  as  it  was,  declared  that  all  his  powers  were  at  the  service  of 
the  elector,  whereupon  the  latter  commissioned  him  to  ride  after 


218  MICHAEL  KOIILHAAS. 

Kohlhaas,  and  in  case  money  would  not  suffice,  as  probably  it  would 
not,  to  offer  him  in  a  prudently  managed  discourse,  life  and  liberty 
as  the  price  of  the  slip ;  nay,  if  he  insisted  upon  it,  to  supply  him  at 
once,  though  cautiously,  with  horses,  people,  and  money,  to  assist 
him  in  escaping  from  the  hands  of  the  Brandenburg  troopers  who 
escorted  him.  The  page,  having  obtained  from  the  elector  a  written 
authority  in  his  own  hand,  set  off  with  some  attendants,  and  not 
allowing  his  horses  any  breathing  time,  he  had  the  good  luck  to 
overtake  Kohlhaas  at  a  village  on  the  border,  where,  with  the  Knight 
von  Malzahn  and  his  five  children,  he  was  partaking  of  a  dinner, 
that  was  spread  before  the  door  of  a  house  in  the  open  air.  The 
Knight  von  Malzahn,  to  whom  the  page  introduced  himself  as  a 
foreigner,  who  wished  to  see  the  remarkable  man  on  his  journey, 
even  anticipated  his  wishes,  as  he  compelled  him  to  sit  down  to  the 
meal,  at  the  same  time  introducing  him  to  Kohlhaas.  As  the 
knight  had  affairs  to  mind,  which  caused  him  to  absent  himself 
every  now  and  then,  and  the  troopers  were  dining  at  a  table  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house,  the  page  soon  found  an  opportunity  of 
telling  the  horse-dealer  who  he  was,  and  explaining  the  particular 
object  of  his  mission. 

The  horse-dealer,  who  had  already  learned  the  name  and  rank  of 
the  person  who  had  fainted  in  the  farm-house  at  Dahme  at  the  sight 
of  the  case,  and  who  wanted  nothing  more  to  complete  the  astonish- 
ment which  the  discovery  had  caused,  than  an  insight  into  the 
secrets  of  the  case,  which  for  many  reasons  he  had  determined  not  to 
open  out  of  mere  curiosity, — the  horse-dealer,  we  say,  mindful  of  the 
unhandsome  and  unprincely  treatment  which  he  had  experienced  at 
Dresden,  in  spite  of  his  readiness  to  make  every  possible  sacrifice,  de- 
clared that  he  intended  to  keep  the  case.  To  the  question  of  the 
page,  what  could  induce  him  to  utter  so  singular  a  refusal,  when 
nothing  less  than  life  and  liberty  was  offered  him,  Kohlhaas  replied : 

"  Sir,  if  your  sovereign  came  here  in  person  and  said  to  me,  '  I  will 
destroy  myself  with  the  troop  of  those  who  help  to  wield  the 
sceptre ;'  although  such  destruction  is  the  dearest  wish  of  my  soul — 
I  would  still  refuse  him  the  case,  which  is  even  more  valuable  to  him 
than  existence,  and  would  say,  '  to  the  scaffold  you  can  bring  me, 
but  I  can  injure  you,  and  I  will.' "  And  immediately,  with  death 
in  his  face,  he  called  for  one  of  the  troopers,  ordering  him  to  take  a 
good  portion  of  the  repast  which  still  remained  in  the  dish.  For 
the  remainder  of  the  hour,  which  he  passed  in  the  village,  he  never 
turned  towards  the  page,  but  treated  him,  although  he  sat  at  the 
table,  as  if  he  was  not  present,  until,  when  he  ascended  the  cart,  he 
turned  round  and  gave  him  a  farewell  look. 

The  situation  of  the  elector,  when  he  learned  the  news,  grew  worse 
and  worse;  indeed  to  such  a  degree,  that  the  physician,  during  three 
portentous  days,  was  in  the  greatest  anxiety  for  his  life,  which  seemed 
attacked  from  more  sides  than  one.  However,  bv  the  force  of  his 
naturally  strong  constitution,  after  keeping  his  bed  for  several  pain- 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  219 

fully  passed  weeks,  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  be  removed  to  a 
carriage,  and  tlius,  with  an  ample  store  of  cushions  and  coverlets,  to 
be  conveyed  to  Dresden  to  the  affairs  of  his  government.  As  soon 
as  he  had  reached  the  city  he  sent  for  Prince  Christian  of  Misnia, 
and  asked  him  how  matters  were  going  on  with  respect  to  the  mission 
of  the  Councillor  Eibenmeyer,  who  was  to  be  sent  to  Vienna  as 
attorney  in  the  Kohlhaas  affair,  to  complain  to  the  emperor  of  the 
breach  of  the  imperial  peace.  The  prince  told  him  that  this  coun- 
cillor had  set  off  to  Vienna,  in  conformity  with  the  instructions, 
which  he  had  left  when  he  went  to  Dahme,  immediately  after  the 
arrival  of  the  Jurist  Zauner,  whom  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  had 
sent  as  attorney  to  Dresden,  to  prosecute  the  suit  about  the  horses 
against  the  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka. 

The  elector,  who,  deeply  colouring,  withdrew  to  his  writing- 
table,  expressed  his  astonishment  at  this  haste,  since  he  had,  to  his 
knowledge,  declared  that  the  departure  of  Eibenmeyer  was  to 
wait  for  nearer  and  more  definite'  instructions,  a  reference  to  Dr. 
Luther,  who  had  procured  the  amnesty  for  Kohlhaas,  being  first 
necessary.  With  an  expression  of  suppressed  anger,  he  turned  over 
and  over  the  documents  that  lay  upon  the  table.  The  prince,  after 
staring  at  him  for  some  time  in  silence,  said,  that  he  should  be  sorry 
if  he  had  not  conducted  this  affair  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  sovereign, 
adding,  that  in  the  state-council  not  a  word  had  been  said  about  a 
reference  to  Dr.  Luther;  and  that  although  perhaps  at  an  earlier  part 
of  the  proceedings  it  would  have  been  proper  to  refer  to  this  reverend 
gentleman,  on  account  of  his  intercession  for  Kohlhaas,  it  was  now 
no  longer  requisite,  since  the  amnesty  had  already  been  broken  in  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  world,  and  Kohlhaas  had  been  arrested,  and  de- 
livered up  to  the  Brandenburg  tribunal  for  judgment  and  execution. 

The  elector  admitted  that  the  mistake  in  sending  Eibenmeyer  was 
not  so  great,  but  expressed  his  wish  that  he  should  not  appear  at 
Vienna  in  his  official  capacity  of  prosecutor  till  he  had  received 
further  instructions,  and  told  the  prince  to  communicate  this  to  him 
accordingly  through  an  express.  The  prince  replied  that  this  com- 
mand came  unfortunately  a  day  too  late,  since  Eibenmeyer,  accord- 
ing to  a  notice  which  had  arrived  that  very  day,  had  appeared  in 
the  quality  of  attorney,  and  had  proceeded  to  bring  the  complaint 
before  the  state-chancery  in  Vienna. 

When  the  elector  asked  with  astonishment  how  this  was  possible 
in  so  short  a  time,  he  answered,  that  three  weeks  had  already  elapsed 
since  Eibenmeyer's  departure,  and  that  by  the  instructions  which  he 
had  received,  it  was  incumbent  upon  him  to  despatch  the  business  as 
soon  as  possible  after  his  arrival  at  Vienna.  The  prince  further  re- 
marked, that  a  delay  would,  under  the  circumstances,  be  so  much  the 
more  unjustifiable,  as  the  Brandenburg  representative,  Zauner,  was 
proceeding  against  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka  with  the  boldest 
energy,  and  had  already  moved  the  court,  that  the  horses,  as  a  pre- 
liminary measure,  should  be  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  flayer,  with 


220  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

a  view  to  their  future  recovery,  and  had  succeeded  in  carrying  this1 
point  in  spite  of  all  the  objections  of  the  opposite  party. 

The  elector,  ringing  the  bell,  said,  "  Well,  no  matter !"  and  after 
puttin^  some  indifferent  questions  to  the  prince,  such  as  "  how  matters 
stood  Si  Dresden,"  and  "  what  had  been  going  on  in  his  absence,'* 
he  shook  hands  with  him,  unable  any  longer  to  conceal  the  state  of 
his  mind,  and  dismissed  him.  On  the  very  same  day  he  sent  to  him 
a  written  request  for  all  the  documents  relating  to  the  Kohlhaas 
affair,  under  the  pretext  that  he  would  take  the  management  of  it 
into  his  own  hands  on  account  of  its  political  importance.  The 
thought  of  destroying  the  man  from  whom  alone  he  could  learn 
the  mysteries  of  the  slip  was  to  him  insupportable,  so  he  addressed 
to  the  emperor  a  letter  in  his  own  hand,  in  which  he  requested  him 
in  the  most  pressing  manner,  for  certain  important  reasons,  which 
he  would  perhaps  explain  more  definitely  in  a  short  time,  to  set 
aside  the  complaint  which  Eibenmeyer  had  brought  against  Kohl- 
haas, until  some  further  conclusion  had  been  arrived  at. 

The  emperor,  in  a  note  which  he  despatched  through  the  state 
chancery,  replied  that  he  was  greatly  astonished  at  the  change  in  the 
elector's  sentiments,  which  seemed  to  have  occurred  so  suddenly, 
adding,  that  the  information  laid  before  him  on  the  part  of  Saxony, 
made  the  matter  of  Kohlhaas  an  affair  of  the  whole  sacred  Roman 
empire,  that  he,  the  emperor,  as  the  head  of  that  empire,  was  bound 
to  appear  as  prosecutor  in  this  suit  with  the  House  of  Brandenburg ; 
that  now  the  court-assessor,  Franz  Miiller,  had  gone  to  Berlin  as 
imperial  attorney,  for  the  express  purpose  of  bringing  Kohlhaas  to  ac- 
count there  for  a  violation  of  the  imperial  peace,  it  would  be  impossible 
to  set  aside  the  complaint,  and  that  therefore  the  affair  must  take  its 
course  according  to  the  laws.  The  elector  was  completely  cast  down 
by  this  letter;  and  when,  to  his  utter  confusion,  he  shortly  after- 
wards received  private  letters  from  Berlin  announcing  the  com- 
mencement of  the  proceedings  before  the  chamber-council,  and 
stating  that  Kohlhaas,  in  spite  of  all  the  endeavours  of  his  advocate, 
would  probably  end  his  days  on  a  scaffold,  the  unhappy  prince  re- 
solved to  make  one  attempt  more,  and  he  therefore  wrote  a  letter 
himself  to  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  begging  for  the  horse-dealer's 
life.  He  pretended  that  the  amnesty  which  had  been  promised  to 
the  man,  would  render  improper  the  fulfilment  of  a  capital  sentence; 
assured  him,  that  in  spite  of  the  apparent  severity  of  the  proceed- 
ings against  Kohlhaas,  it  had  never  been  his  intention  to  put  him 
to  death;  and  stated  how  inconsolable  he  should  be  if  the  protection 
which  seemed  to  be  granted  him  from  Berlin,  should  by  an  unex- 
pected turn  prove  more  to  his  disadvantage  than  if  he  had  remained 
in  Dresden,  and  the  affair  had  been  decided  according  to  Saxon 
law. 

The  Elector  of  Brandenburg,  who  perceived  much  that  was  ob- 
scure and  ambiguous  in  this  request,  replied  by  stating  that  the 
urgency  with  which  the  imperial  advocate  proceeded  would  not  allow 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  221 

him  to  depart  from  the  strict  injunctions  of  the  law  to  accede  to  his 
(Saxony's)  wishes.  At  the  same  time  he  remarked  that  the  anxiety  of  the 
Elector  of  Saxony  in  this  matter  seemed  to  be  carried  too  far,  since 
the  complaint  against  Kohlhaas,  which  was  now  before  the  Berlin 
chamber-council,  and  which  concerned  the  crimes  pardoned  in  the 
amnesty,  did  not  proceed  from  him  who  granted  it,  but  from  the 
head  of  the  empire,  who  was  not  in  any  manner  bound  by  it.  He 
also  impressed  upon  him  how  necessary  it  was  to  make  a  terrible  ex- 
ample, seeing  that  the  outrages  of  Nagelschmidt  still  continued,  and 
with  unparalleled  audacity  had  advanced  even  to  the  borders  of 
Brandenburg;  and  requested  him,  if  he  would  pay  no  regard  to  these 
reasons,  to  address  himself  to  his  imperial  majesty,  since,  if  an  edict 
was  to  be  pronounced  in  favour  of  Kohlhaas,  it  could  come  from 
that  quarter  alone. 

The  elector,  extremely  grieved  and  vexed  at  all  these  futile  attempts, 
fell  into  a  new  illness,  and  when  one  morning  the  chamberlain  visited 
him,  he  showed  him  the  letters  which  he  had  addressed  to  the  courts 
of  Vienna  and  Berlin,  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  reprieve  for 
Kohlhaas,  and  thus  at  least  of  gaining  time  to  possess  himself  of  the 
slip  which  he  had  with  him. 

The  chamberlain  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  him,  and  re- 
quested him  by  all  that  was  dear  and  sacred  to  tell  him  what  this  slip 
contained. 

The  elector  said,  that  he  might  bolt  the  room  and  sit  down  upon 
the  bed,  and  after  he  had  taken  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart 
with  a  sigh,  he  began  as  follows:  "  Your  wife,  as  I  understand,  has 
already  told  you  that  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  and  I,  on  the  third 
day  of  the  meeting,  which  we  had  in  Jiiterboch,  met  a  gipsy.  When 
the  elector,  who  is  of  sportive  disposition,  resolved  by  a  jest  to  de- 
molish in  the  sight  of  the  people  the  fame  of  this  extraordinary  wo- 
man, whose  art  had  been  the  subject  of  unseemly  conversation  at 
table,  and  asked  her,  on  account  of  the  prophecy  which  she  was  about 
to  utter,  to  give  him  a  sign  that  might  be  tested  that  very  day, 
alleging  that  he  could  not  otherwise  believe  what  she  said,  were 
she  the  Roman  sybil  herself.  The  woman,  taking  a  cursory  view 
of  us  from  head  to  foot,  said  that  the  sign  would  be  this :  that  the 
great  roebuck,  which  the  gardener's  son  reared  in  the  park,  would 
meet  us  in  the  market  where  we  stood  before  we  left  it.  You 
must  know  that  this  roebuck,  being  intended  for  the  Dresden  kitchen, 
was  kept  under  lock  and  bolt,  in  a  partition  fenced  round  with  high 
laths,  and  shaded  by  the  oaks  of  the  park.  As  on  account  of  other 
smaller  game  and  birds  the  park  and  the  garden  besides  were  kept 
carefully  closed,  it  was  not  easy  to  see  how  the  animal,  in  accordance 
with  the  strange  prediction,  would  come  to  the  place  where  we  stood. 
Nevertheless  the  elector,  fearing  some  trick,  and  resolved  to  put  to 
shame  all  that  the  woman  might  say,  for  the  sake  of  the  jest,  sent  to 
the  castle,  with  orders  that  the  roebuck  should  be  killed  at  once, 
and  got  ready  for  the  table  at  an  early  day.  He  then  turned  back  to 


222  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

the  woman,  who  had  spoken  about  this  matter  aloud,  and  said: 
*  Now,  what  have  you  to  tell  me  about  the  future?'  The  woman, 
looking  into  his  hand  said :  *  Hail  to  my  lord  the  elector !  Your  grace 
will  long  reign,  the  house  from  which  thou  descendest  will  long  en- 
dure, and  thy  descendants  will  become  great  and  glorious,  and  attain 
power  above  all  the  princes  and  lords  of  the  world.'  The  elector, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  he  eyed  the  woman  thoughtfully,  said 
half  aside,  and  stepping  up  to  me,  that  he  was  almost  sorry  he  had 
sent  a  messenger  to  annihilate  the  prophecy,  and  when  the  money, 
from  the  hands  of  the  knights  who  followed  him,  poured  into  the 
woman's  lap,  amid  loud  huzzas,  he  asked  her,  putting  his  hand  in 
his  pocket,  and  giving  a  piece  of  gold,  whether  the  greeting  she 
would  give  to  me  had  such  a  silvery  sound  as  his  own.  The  woman, 
after  she  had  opened  a  box  which  stood  beside  her,  had  very  delibe- 
rately put  the  money  in  it,  arranging  it  according  to  description  and 
quantity,  and  had  closed  the  lid  again,  held  her  hand  before  the 
sun  as  if  the  light  annoyed  her,  and  looked  at  me.  When  I  repeated 
the  question,  and  said  jestingly  to  the  elector,  while  she  examined 
my  hand,  '  It  seems  that  she  has  nothing  very  pleasant  to  tell  me,' 
she  seized  her  crutch,  rose  slowly  from  her  stool,  and  approaching 
me  with  hands  mysteriously  held  out,  whispered  distinctly  into  my 
ear,  '  No !' — '  So !'  said  I,  somewhat  confused,  and  I  receded  a  step 
back  from  the  figure,  who  with  a  glance  as  cold  and  lifeless  as  that 
from  eyes  of  marble,  again  seated  herself  on  the  stool  which  stood 
behind  her.  *  Pray  from  what  side  does  danger  threaten  my  house?' 
The  woman  taking  up  a  bit  of  charcoal  and  a  slip  of  paper,  and 
crossing  her  knees,  asked  me  whether  she  should  write  it  down ;  and 
when  I,  with  some  confusion,  because  under  the  circumstances  there 
was  nothing  else  left  to  do,  answered  *  Yes,  do  so,'  she  replied: 
'  Very  good,  I  will  write  down  three  things — the  name  of  the  last 
ruler  of  thy  house,  the  year  when  he  will  lose  his  kingdom,  and  the 
name  of  him  who  will  take  it  by  force  of  arms.'  Having  finished 
her  task  in  the  sight  of  the  whole  mob,  she  fastened  together  the  slip 
with  a  wafer,  which  she  moistened  with  her  withered  mouth  and  pressed 
upon  it  a  leaden  ring  which  she  wore  upon  her  middle  finger.  I 
was  curious  beyond  expression,  as  you  may  easily  conceive,  to  take 
the  slip,  but  she  said:  4  By  no  means,  your  highness,'  adding  as  she 
turned  round  and  raised  one  of  her  crutches,  4  from  that  man  yonder, 
who  with  the  plumed  hat  is  standing  behind  all  the  people  on  the 
bench  in  the  entrance  of  the  church,  you  may  get  the  paper  if  you 
choose.'  And  at  once,  while  I  was  standing  perfectly  speechless  with 
astonishment,  and  had  not  rightly  made  out  what  she  said,  she  left 
me,  and  packing  up  the  box  which  stood  behind  her  and  flinging  it 
over  her  back,  mingled  with  the  surrounding  crowd,  so  that  I  was 
nimble  to  see  her.  It  was  a  great  consolation  to  me  at  this  moment 
that  the  knight,  whom  the  elector  had  sent  to  the  castle,  now  re- 
turned and  told  him  laughing,  that  the  roebuck  had  been  killed 
and  dragged  into  the  kitchen  by  two  hunters  before  his  eyes. 


MICHAEL  KOIILIIAAS.  223 

"  Tlie  elector,  merrily  putting  his  arm  into  mine,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  leading  me  from  the  spot,  said :  *  Good !  the  prophecy  turns 
out  to  be  a  mere  common-place  trick,  not  worth  the  time  and  money 
which  it  has  cost  us.'  But  how  great  was  our  astonishment,  when, 
at  the  very  time  he  was  speaking  these  words,  a  cry  was  raised,  and 
all  eyes  were  turned  towards  a  great  butcher's  dog  which  came  run- 
ning from  the  castle-court,  and  which,  having  seized  the  roebuck  in 
the  kitchen,  as  good  spoil,  had  borne  it  off  by  the  nape  of  the  neck, 
and  now  dropped  it  about  three  paces  from  us,  followed  by  a  troop  of 
servants,  male  and  female.  Thus  was  the  woman's  prophecy,  which 
she  had  uttered  as  a  guarantee  for  all  the  rest  that  she  predicted,  com- 
pletely fulfilled,  as  the  roebuck  had  indeed  met  us  in  the  market- 
place, although  it  was  dead.  The  lightning  which  falls  from  heaven 
on  a  winter's  day,  cannot  strike  with  more  annihilating  effect  than  that 
which  this  sight  produced  on  me ;  and  my  first  attempt,  after  I  had  freed 
myself  from  the  persons  about  me,  was  to  find  out  the  man  with  the 
plumed  hat,  whom  the  woman  had  designated;  but  although  my 
people  were  employed  for  three  days  uninterruptedly,  in  seeking 
information,  not  one  of  them  was  in  a  condition  to  give  me  the 
slightest  intelligence  on  the  subject.  Now,  friend  Conrad,  a  few 
weeks  ago,  in  the  farm  at  Dahme,  I  saw  the  man  with  my  own 
eyes." 

Having  finished  this  narrative,  the  elector  let  the  chamberlain's 
hand  fall,  and  sank  back  on  his  couch,  wiping  off  the  perspiration. 
The  chamberlain,  who  thought  every  attempt  to  oppose  or  correct 
the  elector's  view  of  the  case  would  be  fruitless,  entreated  him  to  try 
some  plan  to  obtain  possession  of  the  slip,  and  then  to  leave  the  fellow 
to  his  fate;  but  the  elector  replied,  that  he  could  see  no  plan  at  all, 
although  the  thought  of  going  without  the  paper,  and  of  seeing  all 
knowledge  of  it  perish  with  Kohlhaas,  made  him  almost  desperate. 
To  his  friend's  question,  whether  he  had  made  any  efforts  to  dis- 
cover the  gipsy  herself,  he  answered  that  the  government  (Guber- 
nium),  in  pursuance  of  a  command  which  he  had  sent  forth  under  a 
false  pretext,  had  in  vain  sought  for  the  woman  to  that  day,  in  all 
the  public  places  in  the  electorate,  while,  from  other  reasons  which  he 
declined  to  communicate  more  explicitly,  he  expressed  his  doubts 
whether  she  was  to  be  found  in  Saxony.  It  chanced  that  the  cham- 
berlain wished  to  travel  to  Berlin  for  the  sake  of  some  considerable 
property  in  the  Neumark,  to  which  his  wife  had  become  entitled  by  the 
bequest  of  the  High  Chancellor  Kallheim,  who  died  soon  after  he 
was  displaced;  and,  therefore,  as  he  really  was  much  attached  to  the 
elector,  he  asked  him,  after  a  short  deliberation,  whether  he  would 
let  him  act  quite  at  liberty  in  this  matter. 

The  elector,  pressing  the  chamberlain's  hand  with  warmth  against 
his  breast,  answered:  "  Consider  that  you  are  myself,  and  get  the 
paper;"  and,  therefore,  the  chamberlain,  having  entrusted  his  office 
to  other  hands,  hastened  his  journey  by  a  day  or  two,  and,  leaving 


224  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

his  wife  behind,  set  off  for  Berlin,  accompanied  only  by  some 
servants. 

Kohlhaas,  who,  as  we  have  already  said,  had  in  the  meanwhile 
arrived  at  Berlin,  and  by  the  special  order  of  the  elector  had  been 
put  in  a  state  prison,  made  as  comfortable  as  possible  for  the  recep- 
tion of  him  and  his  five  children,  was,  immediately  after  the  appear- 
ance of  the  imperial  attorney  from  Vienna,  brought  before  the 
chamber  council  charged  with  a  breach  of  the  imperial  peace.  Al- 
though he  said,  in  answer,  that  he  could  not  be  prosecuted  for  his 
armed  attack  in  Saxony,  and  the  violence  he  had  there  committed, 
by  virtue  of  the  agreement  made  with  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  at 
Liitzen,  he  was  informed  that  of  that  agreement  the  emperor,  whose 
attorney  conducted  this  complaint,  could  take  no  cognizance.  When 
the  matter  was  explained  to  him,  and  he  heard,  besides,  with  re- 
ference to  his  affair  at  Dresden,  that  he  would  have  ample  justice 
against  Squire  Wenzel  von  Tronka,  he  readily  submitted.  The  very 
day  on  which  the  chamberlain  arrived,  sentence  was  passed  against 
Kohlhaas,  and  he  was  condemned  to  be  put  to  death  with  the  sword ; 
— a  sentence  which,  seeing  how  complicated  was  the  state  of  affairs,  no 
one  believed  would  be  executed,  notwithstanding  its  mildness;  nay, 
the  whole  city,  knowing  the  good  feeling  of  the  elector  towards 
Kohlhaas,  firmly  hoped  that  the  capital  punishment,  by  a  special 
edict,  would  be  commuted  into  a  long  and  severe  imprisonment. 

The  chamberlain  seeing  at  once  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost,  if  he 
would  fulfil  his  sovereign's  commission,  went  to  work,  by  appearing 
one  morning,  sedulously  attired  in  his  usual  court-dress,  before  Kohl- 
haas, who  was  innocently  watching  the  passers-by  from  the  window 
of  his  prison.  Concluding,  from  a  sudden  movement  of  his  head, 
that  the  horse-dealer  had  perceived  him,  and  particularly  observing, 
with  great  delight,  how  the  latter  clutched,  involuntarily,  at  the  part 
of  his  breast,  where  the  case  was  situated,  he  judged,  that  what  had 
passed  in  the  mind  of  Kohlhaas  at  that  moment,  was  a  sufficient  pre- 
paration to  advance  one  step  further  in  the  attempt  to  gain  possession 
of  the  paper. 

He,  therefore,  called  to  him  an  old  rag-woman,  who  was  hobbling 
about  on  crutches,  and  whom  he  had  observed  in  the  streets  of  Ber- 
lin among  a  host  of  others,  who  were  trafficking  in  the  same  com- 
modity. This  woman,  in  age  and  attire  seemed  to  bear  a  pretty 
close  resemblance  to  the  one  whom  his  elector  had  described,  and  as 
he  thought  that  Kohlhaas  would  have  no  clear  recollection  of  the 
features  of  the  gipsy,  who  had  only  appeared  for  a  moment  when 
she  gave  him  the  case,  he  resolved  to  pass  off  this  old  woman  for  the 
other  one,  and  if  possible  to  let  her  take  the  part  of  the  gipsy  be- 
fore Kohlhaas.  To  put  her  in  a  proper  position  to  play  this  part,  he 
informed  her,  circumstantially,  of  all  that  had  passed  between  the  two 
electors  and  the  gipsy  at  Jiiterboch,  not  forgetting  to  tell  her  the 
three  mysterious  articles  contained  in  the  paper,  as  he  did  not  know 


MICHAEL  KOIILHAAS.  225 

how  far  the  gipsy  might  have  gone  in  her  explanations  to  Kohlhaas. 
After  explaining  to  her  what  she  must  let  fall  in  an  incoherent  or 
unintelligible  manner,  for  the  sake  of  certain  plans  that  had  been 
devised  to  obtain  the  paper,  either  by  force  or  stratagem — a  matter 
of  great  importance  to  the  Saxon  court — he  charged  her  to  ask  Kohl- 
haas for  it,  under  the  pretext  of  keeping  it  for  a  few  eventful  days, 
as  it  was  no  longer  safe  in  his  possession.  The  woman,  on  the  pro- 
mise of  a  considerable  reward,  part  of  which  the  chamberlain,  at  her 
request,  was  forced  to  give  beforehand,  at  once  undertook  to  perform, 
the  required  office;  and  as  the  mother  of  the  man,  Herse,  who  had 
fallen  at  Miihlberg,  sometimes  visited  Kohlhaas,  with  the  permission 
of  the  government,  and  this  woman  had  been  acquainted  with  her 
for  some  months,  she  succeeded  in  visiting  Kohlhaas  at  an  early  day, 
with  the  help  of  a  small  present  to  the  gaoler. 

Kohlhaas,  as  soon  as  she  entered,  thought  that  by  the  seal-ring, 
which  she  wore  on  her  finger,  and  the  coral  chain  which  hung  from 
her  neck,  he  recognised  the  old  gipsy  who  had  given  him  the  can 
at  Juterboch.  Indeed,  as  probability  is  not  always  on  the  side  of 
truth,  so  was  it  here;  for  something  happened  which  we  certainly 
record,  but  which  every  one  who  chooses  is  at  liberty  to  doubt. 
The  fact  is,  the  chamberlain  had  committed  the  most  monstrous 
blunder,  the  old  woman  whom  he  had  picked  up  in  the  streets  of 
Berlin  to  imitate  the  gipsy,  being  no  other  than  the  mysterious 
gipsy  herself  whom  he  wished  to  be  imitated.  The  woman  lean- 
ing on  her  crutches,  and  patting  the  cheeks  of  the  children,  who, 
struck  by  her  strange  aspect,  clung  to  their  father,  told  him  that  she 
had  for  some  time  left  Saxony  for  Brandenburg,  and  in  consequence 
of  a  heedless  question  asked  by  the  chamberlain  in  the  streets  of 
Berlin,  about  the  gipsy  who  was  in  Juterboch  in  the  spring  of  the 
past  year,  had  at  once  hurried  to  him,  and  under  a  false  name  had 
offered  herself  for  the  office  which  he  wished  to  see  fulfilled. 

The  horse-dealer  remarked  a  singular  likeness  between  this 
woman  and  his  deceased  wife  Lisbeth :  indeed  he  could  almost  have 
asked  her  if  she  were  not  her  grandmother;  for  not  only  did  her 
features,  her  hands,  which,  bony  as  they  were,  were  still  beautiful, 
and  especially  the  use  which  she  made  of  these  while  talking,  re- 
mind him  of  Lisbeth  most  forcibly,  but  even  a  mole  by  which  his 
wife's  neck  was  marked,  was  on  the  gipsy's  neck  also. 

Hence,  amid  strangely  conflicting  thoughts,  he  compelled  her  to 
take  a  seat,  and  asked  her  what  possible  business  of  the  chamber- 
lain's could  bring  her  to  him. 

The  woman,  while  Kohlhaas's  old  dog  went  sniffing  about  her 
knees,  and  wagged  his  tail  while  she  patted  him,  announced  that 
the  commission  which  the  chamberlain  had  given  her,  was  to  tell 
him  how  the  paper  contained  a  mysterious  answer  to  three  questions 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  the  Saxon  court,  to  warn  him  against 
an  emissary  who  was  at  Berlin,  with  the  design  of  taking  it,  and  to 
ask  for  the  paper  herself,  under  the  pretext  that  it  was  no  more 


226  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 


in  his  own  bosom.  The  real  design  of  her  coming  was,  how- 
ever, to  tell  him  that  the  threat  of  depriving  him  of  the  paper,  by 
force  or  cunning,  was  completely  idle,  that  he  had  not  the  least 
cause  to  feel  any  apprehension  about  it,  under  the  protection  of  the 
Elector  of  Brandenburg—  nay,  that  the  paper  was  much  safer  with 
him  than  with  her,  and  that  he  should  take  great  care  not  to  lose 
it,  by  delivering  it  to  any  one  under  any  pretext  whatever.  How- 
ever, she  added  by  saying,  that  she  thought  it  prudent  to  use  the 
paper  for  the  purpose  for  which  she  had  given  it  to  him  at  the 
Jiiterboch  fair,  to  listen  to  the  offer  which  had  been  made  to  him 
on  the  borders  by  the  page,  von  Stein,  and  to  give  the  paper,  which 
could  be  of  no  further  use  to  him,  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  in  ex- 
change for  life  and  liberty. 

Kohlhaas,  who  exulted  in  the  power  which  was  given  him,  of 
mortally  wounding  his  enemy's  heel,  at  the  very  moment  when  it 
trampled  him  in  the  dust,  replied,  "  Not  for  the  world,  good  mother; 
not  for  the  world  !"  and  pressing  the  old  woman's  hand,  only  desired 
to  know,  what  were  the  answers  to  the  important  questions  con- 
tained in  the  paper. 

The  woman,  taking  in  her  lap  the  youngest  child,  who  was  crouch- 
ing down  at  her  feet,  said,  "  No  —  not  for  the  world,  Kohlhaas  the 
horse-dealer  ;  but  for  the  sake  of  this  pretty  little  fair-haired  boy." 
So  saying,  she  smiled  at  him,  embraced  him,  and  kissed  him;  while 
he  stared  at  her  with  all  his  might,  and  gave  him  with  her  dry 
hands  an  apple,  which  she  carried  in  her  pocket. 

Kohlhaas  said,  in  some  confusion,  that  even  the  children,  if  they 
were  old  enough,  would  commend  him  for  what  he  had  done,  and 
that  he  could  not  do  any  thing  more  serviceable  for  them  and  their 
posterity  than  keep  the  paper.  He  asked,  besides,  who,  after  the 
experience  he  had  already  made,  would  secure  him  against  fresh 
deception,  and  whether  he  might  not  sacrifice  the  paper  to  the  elector, 
just  as  uselessly,  as  he  had  formerly  sacrificed  the  troop  which  he 
collected  at  L'utzen.  "  With  him  who  has  once  broken  his  word," 
said  he,  *'  I  have  nothing  more  to  do,  and  nothing,  good  mother, 
but  your  demand,  definitively  and  unequivocally  expressed,  will 
cause  me  to  part  with  the  slip  by  which,  in  such  a  remarkable 
manner,  satisfaction  is  given  me  for  all  that  I  have  suffered." 

The  woman,  setting  the  child  down  upon  the  ground,  said,  that 
he  was  right  in  many  respects,  and  could  do  and  suffer  what  he 
pleased  ;  and,  taking  her  crutch  again  in  her  hand,  prepared  to  go. 

Kohlhaas  repeated  his  question  respecting  the  contents  of  the 
strange  paper;  and  when  she  answered  him  hastily,  that  he  might 
open  it,  if  only  out  of  curiosity,  he  wished  to  be  informed  about  a 
thousand  tilings  more  before  she  quitted  him;  such  as  who  she  was; 
lm\v  she  acquired  her  science;  why  she  had  refused  to  give  the  won- 
ul  j>;!j>er  to  the  elector,  for  whom  it  was  written,  and  had  just 
selected  him,  who  had  never  cared  about  her  science,  among  so 
many  thousand  persons. 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  227 

At  this  very  moment  a  noise  was  heard,  made  by  some  police 
officers,  who  were  coming  up  stairs,  and  the  woman,  who  seemed 
suddenly  afraid  lest  she  should  be  found  by  them  in  these  apart- 
ments, answered:  "  Farewell  till  we  meet  again,  Kohlhaas  !  When 
we  meet  again,  you  shall  have  knowledge  of  all  this."  Turning  to- 
wards the  door,  she  cried,  "  Good-bye,  children,  good-bye !"  and 
kissing  the  little  folks  one  after  the  other,  she  departed. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  entirely  given  up  to  his 
melancholy  thoughts,  had  summoned  two  astrologers  named  Olden- 
holm  and  Olearius,  who  then  stood  in  high  repute  in  Saxony,  and 
had  consulted  them  as  to  the  contents  of  the  mysterious  paper,  which 
was  of  such  high  import  to  himself  and  the  whole  race  of  his  posterity. 
When  these  men,  after  a  deep  inquiry,  which  had  continued  for  three 
days  in  the  castle  at  Dresden,  could  not  agree  whether  the  pro- 
phecy referred  to  distant  ages  or  to  the  present  time,  while  perhaps 
the  crown  of  Poland,  the  relations  with  which  were  so  warlike,  might 
be  pointed  at, — the  uneasiness,  not  to  say  the  despair  of  the  unhappy 
prince,  far  from  being  lessened  by  the  learned  dispute,  was  rendered 
more  acute,  and  that  to  a  degree  perfectly  insupportable.  About 
the  same  time,  the  chamberlain  charged  his  wife,  who  was  on  the 
point  of  following  him  to  Berlin,  to  point  out  to  the  elector  before 
her  departure,  how  doubtful,  after  the  failure  of  the  attempt  he 
had  made  with  the  old  woman,  whom  he  had  never  seen  since — 
how  doubtful  was  the  hope  of  obtaining  the  paper  now  in  the  posses- 
sion of  Kohlhaas,  since  the  sentence  of  death  had  already  been  signed 
by  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  after  a  careful  examination  of  the 
documents,  and  the  execution  was  already  appointed  for  the  Monday 
after  Palm- Sunday. 

At  this  intelligence,  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  whose  heart  was 
rent  with  grief  and  remorse,  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  for  two 
days,  during  which,  being  weary  of  his  life,  he  tasted  no  food.  On 
the  third  day,  he  suddenly  disappeared  from  Dresden,  giving  a  short 
notice  to  the  Gubernium  that  he  was  going  to  the  Prince  of  Dessau  to 
hunt.  Where  he  actually  went,  and  whether  he  did  turn  to  Dessau, 
we  must  leave  undecided,  since  the  chronicles  from  the  comparison 
of  which  we  obtain  our  information,  are  singularly  contradictory 
upon  this  point.  So  much  is  certain,  that  the  Prince  of  Dessau, 
unable  to  hunt,  lay  sick  at  this  time,  with  his  uncle,  Duke  Henry,  in 
Brunswick,  and  that  the  Lady  Heloise  on  the  evening  of  the  fol- 
lowing day,  accompanied  by  a  Count  Konigstein,  whom  she  called 
her  cousin,  entered  the  room  of  her  husband,  the  chamberlain. 

In  the  meantime,  the  sentence  of  death  was  read  to  Kohlhaas 
at  the  elector's  request,  and  the  papers  relating  to  his  property, 
which  had  been  refused  him  at  Dresden,  were  restored  to  him. 
When  the  councillors,  whom  the  tribunal  had  sent  to  him,  asked 
him  how  his  property  should  be  disposed  of  after  his  death,  he  pre- 
pared a  will  in  favour  of  his  children,  with  the  assistance  of  a  notary, 
and  appointed  his  good  friend  the  farmer  at  Kohlhaasenbriick  their 


228  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

guardian.  Nothing  could  equal  the  peace  and  contentment  of  his 
last  days,  for  by  a  special  order  of  the  elector,  the  prison  in  which 
he  was  kept  was  thrown  open,  and  a  free  approach  to  him  was 
granted  to  all  his  friends,  of  whom  many  resided  in  the  city.  He 
had  the  further  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  divine,  Jacob  Freysing,  as 
a  delegate  from  Doctor  Luther,  enter  his  dungeon,  with  a  letter  in 
Luther's  own  hand  (which  was  doubtless  very  remarkable,  but  has 
since  been  lost),  and  of  receiving  the  holy  sacrament  from  the 
hands  of  this  reverend  gentleman,  in  the  presence  of  two  deans  of 
Brandenburg. 

At  last  the  portentous  Monday  arrived,  on  which  he  was  to  atone 
to  the  world  for  his  too  hasty  attempt  to  procure  justice,  and  still 
the  city  was  in  general  commotion,  not  being  able  to  give  up  the 
hope  that  some  decree  would  yet  come  to  save  him.  Accompanied 
by  a  strong  guard,  and  with  his  two  boys  in  his  arms — a  favour  he 
had  expressly  asked  at  the  bar  of  the  tribunal — he  was  stepping 
from  the  gate  of  his  prison,  led  by  Jacob  Freysing,  when,  through 
the  midst  of  a  mournful  throng  of  acquaintance  who  shook  hands 
with  him  and  bade  him  farewell,  the  castellan  of  the  electoral  castle 
pressed  forward  to  him  with  a  disturbed  countenance,  and  gave  him 
a  note  which  he  said  he  had  received  from  an  old  woman.  Kohlhaas, 
while  he  looked  upon  the  man,  who  was  little  known  to  him,  with 
astonishment,  opened  the  note,  the  seal  of  which,  impressed  on  a 
wafer,  reminded  him  of  the  well-known  gipsy.  Who  can  describe 
his  astonishment  when  he  read  as  follows : 

"  KOHLHAAS, — The  Elector  of  Saxony  is  in  Berlin.  He  is  gone 
before  thee  to  the  place  of  execution;  and  thou  mayest  know  him,  if, 
indeed,  it  concerns  thee,  by  a  hat  with  blue  and  white  feathers.  I 
need  not  tell  thee  the  purpose  for  which  he  comes.  As  soon  as  thou 
art  buried,  he  will  dig  up  the  case,  and  have  the  paper  opened  which 
it  contains. 

"  THY  ELIZABETH." 

Kohlhaas,  turning  to  the  castellan  in  the  greatest  astonishment, 
asked  him  if  he  knew  the  wonderful  woman  who  had  given  him  the 
note. 

"  The  castellan  began  to  answer:  "  Kohlhaas,  the  woman " 

but  he  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  his  speech;  and  Kohlhaas, 
being  carried  along  by  the  train,  which  proceeded  at  this  moment, 
could  not  hear  what  the  man,  who  seemed  to  tremble  in  every  limb, 
was  saying  to  him.  When  he  came  to  the  place  of  execution,  he 
found  the  Elector  of  Brandenburg  on  horseback  there,  with  his 
train,  among  whom  was  the  Chancellor  Heinrich  von  Geusau,  in 
the  midst  of  an  immense  concourse  of  people.  To  the  right  of  the 
elector  stood  the  imperial  advocate,  Franz  Miiller,  with  a  copy  of  the 
sentence  in  his  hand,  while  on  his  left,  with  the  decree  of  the  Dresden 
Court  chamber,  was  his  own  advocate,  the  jurist  Anton  Zauner.  In 
the  midst  of  the  half-open  circle  formed  by  the  people,  was  a  herald 


MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS.  229 

with  a  bundle  of  tilings  and  the  two  horses,  now  sleek  and  in  good 
condition,  beating  the  ground  with  their  hoofs.  For  the  Chancellor 
Henry  had  carried  every  point  of  the  suit,  which,  in  the  name  of 
his  master,  he  had  commenced  at  Dresden  against  Squire  Wenzel 
von  Tronka;  and  consequently  the  horses,  after  they  had  been  re- 
stored to  honour  by  the  ceremony  of  waving  a  flag  over  their  heads, 
had  been  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  flayer,  and,  having  been  fattened 
by  the  squire's  men,  had  been  handed  over  to  the  advocate  in  the 
Dresden  market,  in  the  presence  of  a  commission  appointed  for  the 
purpose.  Therefore,  the  elector,  when  Kohlhaas,  attended  by  the 
guard,  ascended  the  court  to  him,  said:  "Now,  Kohlhaas,  this  is 
the  day  on  which  you  have  justice.  Here  I  give  you  back  all 
which  you  were  forced  to  lose  at  the  Tronkenburg,  your  horses, 
handkerchief,  money,  linen,  and  the  expenses  for  medical  attendance 
on  your  man,  Herse,  who  fell  at  Muhlberg.  Are  you  content  with 
me?" 

Kohlhaas,  while  with  open,  sparkling  eyes,  he  read  over  the  de- 
cree which  was  put  into  his  hands,  at  a  hint  from  the  chancellor,  put 
down  the  two  children  whom  he  carried,  and  when  he  found  in  it  an 
article,  by  which  Squire  Wenzel  was  condemned  to  be  imprisoned 
for  two  years,  quite  overcome  by  his  feelings,  he  threw  himself  down 
before  the  elector,  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  breast.  Joyfully 
assuring  the  chancellor,  as  he  arose,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  bosom, 
that  his  highest  wish  on  earth  was  fulfilled,  he  went  up  to  the  horses, 
examined  them,  and  patted  their  fat  necks,  cheerfully  telling  the 
chancellor,  as  he  returned  to  him,  that  he  made  a  present  of  them  to 
his  two  sons,  Henry  and  Leopold. 

The  chancellor,  Henry  von  Geusau,  bending  down  to  him  from 
his  horse  with  a  friendly  aspect,  promised  him  in  the  name  of  the 
elector,  that  his  last  bequest  should  be  held  sacred,  and  requested  him 
to  dispose  of  the  other  things  in  the  bundle  according  to  his  plea- 
sure. Upon  this  Kohlhaas  called  out  of  the  mob  Herse's  old  mother, 
whom  he  perceived  in  the  square,  and  giving  her  the  things,  said, 
"  Here,  mother,  this  belongs  to  you,"  adding,  at  the  same  time,  the 
sum  which  was  in  the  bundle,  to  pay  damages,  as  a  comfort  for  her 
old  days. 

The  elector  then  cried,  "  Now,  Kohlhaas,  the  horse-dealer,  thou 
to  whom  satisfaction  has  been  thus  accorded,  prepare  to  give  satis- 
faction thyself  for  the  breach  of  the  public  peace." 

Kohlhaas,  taking  off  his  hat,  and  throwing  it  down,  said,  that  he 
was  ready,  and  giving  the  children,  after  he  had  once  more  lifted  them 
up  and  pressed  them  to  his  heart,  to  the  farmer  of  Kohlhaasenbruck, 
he  stepped  up  to  the  block,  while  the  farmer,  silently  weeping,  led 
the  children  from  the  place.  He  then  took  the  handkerchief  from 
his  neck,  and  opened  his  doublet,  when  taking  a  cursory  glance  at 
the  circle  of  people,  he  perceived  at  a  short  distance  from  himself, 
between  two  knights,  who  ne'arly  concealed  him,  the  well-known  man 
with  the  blue  and  white  plumes.  Kohlhaas,  bringing  himself  close 


230  MICHAEL  KOHLHAAS. 

to  him  by  a  sudden  step,  which  astonished  the  surrounding  guard, 
took  the  case  from  his  breast.  Taking  the  paper  out,  he  opened  it, 
read  it,  and  fixing  his  eye  on  the  man  with  the  plume,  who  began  to 
entertain  hopes,  put  it  into  his  mouth  and  swallowed  it.  At  this 
sight,  the  man  with  the  blue  and  white  feathers  fell  down  in  con- 
vulsions. Kohlhaas,  while  the  man's  astonished  attendants  stooped 
down  and  raised  him  from  the  ground,  turned  to  the  scaffold,  where 
his  head  fell  beneath  the  axe  of  the  executioner.  Thus  ends  the 
history  of  Kohlhaas. 

The  corpse  was  put  into  a  coffin,  amid  the  general  lamentations  of 
the  people.  While  the  bearers  were  raising  it  to  bury  it  decently  in 
the  suburban  church-yard,  the  elector  called  to  him  the  sons  of  the 
deceased,  and  dubbed  them  knights,  declaring  to  the  chancellor,  that 
they  should  be  brought  up  in  his  school  of  pages.  The  Elector  of 
Saxony,  wounded  in  mind  and  body,  soon  returned  to  Dresden,  and 
the  rest  concerning  him  must  be  sought  in  his  history.  As  for 
Kohlhaas,  some  of  his  descendants,  brave,  joyous  people,  were  liv- 
ing in  Mecklenburg  in  the  last  century. 


THE  KLAUSEOURG. 

BY  LUDWIG  TIECK. 

[The  following  Gespenster-Geschichte,  or  Ghost  Story,  as  Tieck  himself  has 
called  it,  is  related  to  a  circle  of  friends  by  a  gentleman,  Baron  Blamberg,  who  was  a 
friend  of  the  unfortunate  subject  of  the  story,  The  ruins  of  the  Klausenburg  are, 
according  to  the  words  of  the  narrator,  near  the  house  where  they  are  assembled. 
The  story  is  often  interrupted  by  the  company,  but  their  conversation  has  no  con- 
nection with  it,  and  has  therefore  been  omitted. — C.  A.  F.] 

IT  is  about  fifty  years  since  that  a  ricli  family  lived  among  the  moun- 
tains a  short  distance  off,  in  a  castle,  of  which  only  the  ruins  are 
now  to  be  seen,  since  it  was  partly  destroyed  by  thunder  and  light- 
ning, and  the  remainder  was  demolished  in  war.  It  is  now  only 
occasionally  visited  by  huntsmen  and  travellers  who  have  lost  their 
way,  and  it  is  called  the  ruins  of  the  Klausenburg.  Proceeding  up 
the  solitary  footpath  through  the  pine  wood,  and  then  climbing  the 
pathless  crag,  you  stand  facing  its  entrance,  which  is  cut  out  of  the 
living  rock  and  secured  by  an  ancient  and  strongly  barred  gate.  On 
the  outside  is  an  iron  rod  with  a  handle  apparently  communicating 
with  a  bell  on  the  inside.  Having  once  wandered  there  while 
hunting,  I  pulled  this  handle,  but  received  no  answer  to  my  sum- 
mons from  within.  As  this  spot  can  only  be  approached  with  much 
difficulty,  and  it  is  almost  impossible  to  climb  the  chasms  and  rocks 
on  the  other  side,  there  are  many  legends  and  tales  current  among  the 
vulgar  about  this  singular  Klausenburg  the  remains  of  which  present 
an  almost  spectral  appearance. 

Among  other  stories,  it  is  reported  that  more  than  a  century 
ago,  there  resided  within  its  walls  a  very  wealthy,  benevolent,  and 
industrious  man,  who  was  much  beloved  by  his  friends  and  tenants. 
He  had  early  in  life  retired  from  the  state  service  to  devote  himself 
to  the  management  of  his  estates,  of  which  he  possessed  many,  in- 
cluding mines,  and  glass  and  iron  foundries  which  he  was  able  to 
work  to  great  advantage,  having  abundant  fuel  from  his  extensive 
forests.  Although  beloved  by  his  tenants,  he  was  yet  hated  and 
envied  by  many  of  his  equals,  the  more  reasonable  of  whom  dis- 
liked him  because  he  avoided  them,  and  they  readily  perceived  that 
he  despised  them  for  their  want  of  industry  ;  while  the  more  foolish 
believed,  and  even  openly  declared,  that  Count  Moritz  was  in 
league  with  Satan,  and  was  therefore  successful  beyond  expectation 
in  all  he  undertook. 

However  absurd  the  report,  it  was  calculated  at  this  early  period 
to  injure  the  character  of  this  persevering  man  ;  as  it  was  not  many 
years  after  the  time  when  people  were  burnt  at  the  stake  for  witch- 

R 


232  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

craft  and  for  being  in  league  with  the  evil  one.  Hence  it  was  that 
the  count  in  disgust  retired  from  the  world  to  the  solitary  castle  of 
Klausenburg,  and  was  only  happy  when  conversing  on  his  affairs 
with  intelligent  miners,  machine  makers,  and  learned  men.  Know- 
ing the  distrust  with  which  he  was  looked  upon  by  the  old  priests 
who  held  the  livings  in  his  different  parishes,  he  but  rarely  appeared 
at  church,  a  circumstance  which  but  little  contributed  to  raise  his 
reputation  in  the  neighbourhood. 

It  happened  once  that  a  band  of  gipsies,  who  at  that  time  roved 
about  in  Germany  with  little  molestation,  came  to  these  parts.  The 
nobles  of  the  country  as  well  as  the  government  were  undecided 
and  dilatory  in  checking  this  nuisance,  and  the  boundaries  of  several 
states  meeting  here,  the  tribe  could  carry  on  their  depredations 
with  impunity  and  even  unnoticed.  Where  they  did  not  receive 
any  thing,  they  robbed ;  where  they  were  resisted  they  came  at  night 
and  burnt  the  barns ;  and  in  this  manner  the  fire  on  one  occasion 
rapidly  spreading,  two  villages  were  burnt  to  the  ground.  Count 
Moritz  was  induced  by  this  circumstance  to  unite  with  some  reso- 
lute neighbours,  and  to  pursue  and  punish,  on  his  own  authority,  the 
lawless  tribe.  Imprisonment,  scourging,  flogging,  and  starvation, 
were  awarded  by  him  without  reference  to  any  authority,  and  only 
some  who  were  convicted  of  arson  were  sent  to  the  town  for  what 
was  called  the  gipsy  trial,  and  were  then  legally  condemned  to  suffer 
capital  punishment. 

The  count  considering  himself  the  benefactor  of  his  country, 
could  not  help  feeling  mortified  when  his  enviers  and  calumniators 
used  this  very  circumstance  to  accuse  him  of  the  blackest  crimes, 
and  the  most  atrocious  injustice.  To  this  ingratitude  he  opposed 
nothing  but  calm  indignation,  and  a  contempt  which  was  perhaps  too 
magnanimous ;  for  if  a  nobleman  always  preserves  silence,  calumny 
and  falsehood  will  be  more  readily  believed  by  the  foolish  and  those 
who  have  no  character  to  lose.  If  he  could  not  prevail  on  himself 
to  meet  his  opponents  and  to  relate  the  circumstance  in  detail,  he 
felt  himself  quite  disarmed  on  discovering  how  much  he  was  mis- 
understood in  his  family,  and  by  the  being  who  was  nearest  to  his  heart. 
He  had  married  late  in  life,  and  his  wife  having  a  few  days  before 
presented  him  with  a  son,  was  still  confined  to  her  room.  In  her 
present  weak  state  he  could  not  dispute  or  urge  with  any  force  the 
justice  of  his  proceedings,  when  she  reproached  him  with  the  cruelty 
he  had  exercised  towards  these  poor  innocent  men,  who  rather 
deserved  his  compassion  than  such  hard  persecution.  When  on 
leaving  her  chamber  some  old  cousins  told  him  the  same  thing  in 
plainer  terms,  he  could  no  longer  suppress  his  rage,  and  his  replies 
were  so  wrathful,  his  curses  so  vehement,  the  gestures  of  the  irritated 
man  so  superhuman,  that  the  old  prattling  women  lost  their  com-  j 
posure  and  almost  swooned.  To  prevent  his  sick  wife  from  learn- 
ing  all  this,  he  immediately  sent  them  by  main  force  to  another  of  his 
estates  and  then  rode  to  a  solitary  part  of  the  mountains,  partly  to  .' 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  233 

divert  his  thoughts  and  strengthen  himself  by  the  sublime  aspect  of 
nature,  and  partly  to  resume  the  pursuit  of  the  gipsies.  But  what 
•was  his  astonishment  when  he  learned  from  his  ranger  that  those 
noblemen  who^  in  conjunction  with  him,  had  undertaken  the  war 
against  these  vagabonds  had  dispersed  and  retired  to  their  seats 
without  giving  him  notice ! 

Without  being  disconcerted  at  this,  he  again  succeeded  in  appre- 
hending some  of  them  who  were  guilty  of  heavy  crimes,  and  ordered 
them  to  be  bound  and  thrown  into  a  secure  dungeon.  When  after 
having  dismissed  his  attendants,  he  rode  thoughtfully  back  alone 
towards  the  Klausenburg,  the  aged  castellan  on  his  arriving  at  the 
gate  gave  him  a  packet  which  had  been  sent  by  the  government. 
This  he  opened  with  anticipating  vexation,  and  was  so  surprised  by 
its  contents  that  his  anger  rose,  and  he  became  infuriated  almost 
to  madness.  The  purport  of  the  letters  it  contained  was  no  less  than 
a  penal  accusation  for  murder  and  high  treason  in  consequence  of 
the  count's  having,  on  his  own  authority,  and  as  leader  of  an  armed 
troop,  seditiously  opposed  the  government.  Almost  senseless,  he 
dropped  these  preposterous  letters,  and  then,  recovering  by  a  sudden 
effort,  went  to  his  apartment  to  read  the  impeachment  more  calmly, 
and  to  consider  how  he  could  defend  himself.  Passing  the  countess's 
chamber  and  hearing  strange  voices  within,  he  hastily  opened  the 
door,  and  beheld — what  he  certainly  did  not  expect,  two  dirty  old 
gipsies  dressed  in  rags,  sitting  by  the  bedside  of  the  invalid,  and 
foretelling  her  fate,  while  they  frightfully  distorted  their  hideous  coun- 
tenances. As  might  be  expected,  the  countess  was  horror-struck  at 
beholding  her  husband  enter,  for  what  he  now  did  was  truly  bar- 
barous. In  his  fury  he  scarcely  knew  what  he  did,  and  seizing  the 
old  prophetesses  by  their  long  gray  hair,  he  dragged  them  out  of 
the  room  and  threw  them  down  the  staircase.  He  then  commanded 
the  servants,  who  came  crowding  round,  to  secure  them  to  a  stone 
pillar  in  the  yard,  to  bare  their  backs,  and  chastise  them  with  whips, 
as  long  as  the  strength  of  the  ministers  of  his  cruelty  would  hold 
out.  His  orders  were  executed. 

Having  locked  himself  in  his  room,  he  was  horrified,  on  becoming 
calmer,  as  he  reflected  on  the  barbarities  he  had  committed.  From 
these  thoughts  he  was  aroused  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  He 
opened  it,  and  a  servant  in  evident  terror  entered,  saying,  "  Oh ! 
gracious  count,  I  was  afraid  you  were  ill,  or  perhaps  dead,  for  I 
have  been  knocking  for  a  long  time,  without  receiving  any  answer 
from  your  lordship."  "  What  do  you  want?"  "  The  eldest  of 
these  hideous  witches,"  replied  the  servant,  "  insists  on  speaking  to 
you  for  a  minute  before  she  leaves  the  castle.  She  will  not  be  re- 
fused, and  the  most  severe  threats  and  curses  avail  nothing  with  the 
old  woman."  The  count  ordered  the  ill-used  woman  to  be  led  to 
his  room.  The  appearance  of  the  poor  creature  was  frightful,  and 
the  count  himself  started  back  with  horror,  when  she  presented  her- 
self covered  with  blood,  her  face  and  arms  lacerated,  and  a  deep 


234  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

wound  in  her  head,  which   was  still  uncovered.     "  I  thank  you, 
she  said,  "  kind  brother,  for  the  Christian  kindness  that  you  have 
shown  me  in  your  palace.     You  are,    indeed,  a  virtuous  man,  a 
persecutor  of  vice,  an  impartial  judge,  and  a  punisher  of  crimes; 
and  I  suppose  you  would  call  yourself  an  avenging  angel  in  the  ser- 
vice of  your  God.     Do  you  know  then,  tender-hearted  man,  why 
we  were  sitting  by  the  bedside  of  your  wife  ?  We  had,  indeed,  told 
her  fortune,  but  the  real  object  of  our  visit  was  to  speak  to  you,  and 
you  were  not  in  your  hospitable  house.     It  was  our  wish  to  separate 
from  the  gang,  and  seek  a  humble  and  honest  living.     We  know  the 
haunt  where  the  leader  conceals  himself,  that  notorious  incendiary 
whom  you  have  so  long  sought  in  vain,  and  intended  to  deliver  him 
into  your  hands  ;   but  you  are  worse  than  the  most  atrocious  of  our 
gang,  and  as  you  have  shown  us  to-day  so  much  kindness,  a  curse 
for  it  shall  light  upon  you,  your  family,  and  your  offspring,  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation." 

The  count,  who  had  now  repented  of  his  hasty  wrath,  wished  to 
appease  the  awful  woman,  by  speaking  kindly  to  her,  and  offering 
her,  by  way  of  reconciliation,  his  purse  well  filled  with  gold.  She 
cast  an  evil,  though  covetous  look  at  the  gold,  and,  grinding  her 
teeth,  threw  the  purse  at  the  count's  feet.  "  That  mammon,"  she 
cried,  "  would  have  made  me  and  my  poor  sister  happy,  but  after 
the  meal  you  have  given  us,  I  would  rather  gnaw  the  bark  of  trees 
than  receive  the  wealth  from  your  accursed  hands."  Various  and 
many  were  the  curses  she  continued  heaping  on  him,  and  the  tor- 
ments and  misfortunes  she  denounced  against  him  and  his  house. 
When  she  had  finished,  she  tottered  down  the  stone  staircase,  all  the 
servants  fleeing  from  her  as  from  a  spectre. 

From  this  moment  the  count  was  a  changed  man.  His  ener- 
gies were  crushed.  He  lived  as  in  a  dream,  having  no  wish,  and 
being  incapable  of  forming  a  single  resolution.  Those  around 
him  could  not  learn  whether  he  was  deeply  shocked  by  the  death 
of  his  consort,  who  died  the  night  after  that  fatal  day.  Since 
that  time  he  was  scarcely  ever  heard  to  speak  or  to  utter  a  sound, 
sigh,  or  complaint.  He  no  longer  concerned  himself  about  any 
thing,  and  seemed  perfectly  indifferent  when  the  government  confis- 
cated his  largest  estate  to  punish  him  as  a  rebel  and  violator  of 
the  laws.  In  his  present  state  of  mind,  he  abandoned  himself  to 
the  guidance  of  those  very  priests  whom  previously  he  had  so 
pointedly  avoided ;  he  frequented  the  church  often,  and  was  fer- 
vent in  his  devotions.  He  never  looked  round  when  people  behind 
him  called  out,  "  There  sneaks  the  old  sinner,  the  traitor,  the  mur- 
derer, and  rebel,  back  again  into  God's  house."  Now,  likewise,  some 
relatives  profited  by  his  listlessness  so  far  as  to  deprive  him  by  a  lawsuit 
of  another  large  estate,  and  there  was  every  appearance  that  of  all  the 
large  possessions  of  his  ancestors,  nothing  would  be  left,  for  his  only 
heir,  a  beautiful  boy,  had  not  a  prudent  guardian  of  the  child  done 
all  in  his  power  for  him.  From  the  unconcern  of  his  father,  the  young- 
count  became  daily  more  impoverished,  leaving  to  his  offspring  but  a 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  235 

small  portion  of  tlie  large'property  to  which  lie  had  succeeded ;  but,  not- 
withstanding these  misfortunes,  and  also  the  breaking  out  of  war, 
the  next  proprietor  of  the  Klausenburg,  and  his  family,  main- 
tained their  rank,  and  were  respected  in  the  neighbourhood.  By  his 
industry,  his  success,  and  his  marriage  with  a  wealthy  lady,  he  partly 
retrieved  his  fortune,  and  succeeded  in  his  endeavours  to  revive  and 
maintain  the  former  splendour  of  his  castle  for  some  fifty  or  sixty 
years,  so  that  his  friends  and  relatives  resorted  to  it  as  formerly, 
with  delight,  and  he,  at  his  death,  left  to  his  only  son  his  re- 
maining estates  in  good  condition,  besides  large  sums  of  money. 
Thus  the  curse  of  the  gipsies  appeared  totally  removed,  the  count 
and  his  son  having  completely  forgotten  former  events,  or,  having, 
perhaps,  never  heard  of  the  curse. 

I  was  a  spirited  boy  when  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Francis, 
the  last  heir  of  the  Klausenburg.  This  Francis,  who  was  about  a 
year  my  senior,  was  cheerful,  amiable,  and  handsome,  and  the  pride 
of  his  father,  the  persevering  man  who  had  partly  restored  the  splen- 
dour of  his  ancestors.  My  playmate  grew  up  to  be,  not  merely 
the  delight  of  his  father,  but  of  all  around.  He  was  manly,  witty, 
and  engaging,  an  accomplished  dancer,  and  expert  horseman, 
and  in  fencing,  had  not  his  equal.  After  being  presented  at  court, 
he  soon  gained  the  prince's  favour,  by  his  natural  vivacity,  and  in  a 
few  years  was  raised  to  the  office  of  counsellor.  Few  men  on  earth 
had  fairer  prospects  of  a  happy  life.  All  mothers  and  aunts  in  the 
neighbourhood  saw,  and  hoped  to  find  in  him,  the  future  husband 
of  their  daughters  and  nieces,  and  at  the  assemblies  in  the  capital 
he  was  the  adored  and  chosen  hero  of  the  ladies,  as  he  was  the  ob- 
ject of  envy^  and  persecution  among  the  young  fashionables.  No  one 
could  conceive  why  he  so  long  deferred  his  choice,  and,  for  a  long 
time,  people  would  not  credit  the  rumours  that  were  circulated,  that 
he  had  formed  an  engagement  with  the  young  princess.  It  was 
confidently  whispered  that  the  lovers  waited  only  for  some  favour- 
able chance,  or  occurrence,  to  acknowledge  publicly  their  mutual 
affection  and  wishes.  However,  nothing  of  the  kind  happened,  and 
years  passed,  and  with  them  faded  the  rumours,  and  various  inter- 
pretations of  sage  politicians. 

Suddenly,  when  the  affair  seemed  forgotten,  my  youthful  friend 
was  banished  the  court  and  capital  in  disgrace.  All  his  former 
friends  forsook  him,  and  what  was  still  worse,  an  intrigue  counte- 
nanced by  the  government,  involved  him  in  a  dangerous  lawsuit, 
which  threatened  the  loss  of  his  fortune.  Thus  then  this  courted, 
admired,  and  universally  caressed  Francis,  saw  himself  in  the  very  worst 
position,  and  was  obliged  to  confess  that  his  career  was  closed,  and 
that  all  his  splendid  prospects  were  darkened  for  ever. 

About  this  time  I  saw  him  again ;  he  bore  his  misfortune  man- 
fully. He  was  still  as  youthful  and  handsome  as  ever,  and  the  sere- 
nity of  his  temper  had  suffered  but  little.  We  were  travelling  in 
this  neighbourhood,  and  the  Klausenburg  having  gone  to  ruin,  he 


236  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

built  a  pleasant  house  not  far  distant,  on  tlie  slope  of  a  hill,  from 
whence  he  enjoyed  a  beautiful  prospect. 

He  avoided  speaking  of  former  circumstances,  but  one  even- 
ing, he  was  deeply  affected  by  a  letter  announcing  the  decease 
of  the  young  princess,  who  had  died  of  a  broken  heart,  or,  as  was 
afterwards  said,  had  voluntarily  sought  death,  because  she  could  no 
longer  bear  the  burden  of  her  embittered  life. 

It  was  evident  to  me  that  a  deep-seated  melancholy  had  taken  pos- 
session of  my  friend,  and  often  showed  itself  ;  his  mind,  however,  was 
not  so  affected  as  to  display  any  symptoms  of  weariness  of  life,  which 
made  me  hope  that  his  misfortune  and  the  evil  fate  that  had  attended 
him,  would  serve  to  purify  his  character,  and  give  him  that  genuine 
deportment  which  is  essential  even  to  those  who  are  not  tried 
by  calamity,  and  much  more  to  those  who  have  to  pass  through 
heavy  trials. 

There  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  about  that  time  a  wild  old 
woman  who  was  half  crazy,  and  who  went  begging  from  village  to 
village. 

The  higher  class  called  her  jokingly,  the  Sibyl,  the  common  people 
did  not  hesitate  to  call  her  a  witch.  The  place  of  her  residence  was 
not  exactly  known  ;  probably  she  had  no  certain  place  of  resort,  as 
she  was  constantly  seen  on  the  high-roads,  and  roaming  in  every  di- 
rection in  the  country.  Some  old  rangers  maintained  that  she  was 
a  descendant  of  that  notorious  gang  of  gipsies  whom  Count  Moritz 
many  years  before  had  persecuted  and  dispersed. 

Walking  one  day  in  a  beautiful  beech- wood,  and  engaged  in  con- 
versation which  made  us  forget  the  world  without,  we  suddenly  saw, 
at  a  turn  of  the  footpath,  the  old  hideous  Sibyl  before  us.  Being  both 
in  a  cheerful  mood,  we  were  rather  astonished,  but  in  no  way  startled. 
Having  dismissed  the  impudent  beggar  by  giving  her  some  money,  she 
hastily  returned,  saying  :  "  Will  not  you  have  your  fortunes  told 
for  what  you  have  given  to  me  ?" 

u  If  it  is  something  good  that  you  can  tell  me,  you  may  earn  a  few 
more  pence." 

I  held  out  to  her  my  hand  at  which  she  looked  at  very  carefully,  and 
then  said,  scornfully :  "  My  good  sir,  you  have  a  miserable  hand  which 
would  puzzle  even  the  best  fortune-teller.  Such  a  middling  person, 
neither  one  thing  nor  the  other,  as  you,  I  have  never  seen  in  all  my 
life ;  you  are  neither  wise  nor  stupid,  neither  bad  nor  good,  neither 
fortunate  nor  unfortunate;  without  passions,  mind,  virtue,  or  vice  ; 
you  are  what  I  call  a  real  A.  B.  C.  scholar  of  Heaven's  blockheads, 
and  you  will  not  in  all  your  life  have  the  slight  merit  of  ever  per- 
ceiving your  own  insignificance.  From  your  paltry  hand  and 
unmeaning  countenance  nothing  at  all  can  be  prophesied ;  a  dry  fun- 
gus, without  it  is  first  prepared  and  macerated,  cannot  even  receive  a 
spark.  Therefore,  Jack  Mean-nothing,  your  dull  nature  will  never  live 
to  see  any  thing  worth  telling." 

My  friend  Francis  did  not  laugh  at  the  old  woman's  opinion 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  237 

and  description  of  my  character,  but  being  attached  to  me,  his 
anger  arose,  and  he  reproved  her  in  strong  terms.  She  listened  very 
calmly  to  what  he  said,  and  then  replied:  "Why  are  you  so  angry  ? 
If  you  will  not  give  me  something  more  for  my  trouble  and  wisdom, 
let  me  go  quietly.  No  doubt  men  do  not  like  to  have  their  inner- 
most heart  exposed  to  the  daylight.  Is  it  my  fault  that  there  is  no- 
thing better  in  your  friend's  character  ?  He  is  neither  my  son  nor  dis- 
ciple." Thus  the  prophetess  meant  to  justify  and  atone  for  her  inso- 
lence by  repeating  it  anew.  My  friend  was  pacified,  and  gave  her  a 
ducat,  saying:  "  Slake  merry  with  that, — where  do  you  live  ?" 

"Where  do  I  live?"  she  replied;  "  my  roof  changes  so  often  that 
I  cannot  tell  or  describe  it  to  you;  not  unfrequently  it  is  open,  and 
my  companion  is  the  howling  storm;  where  men  have  not  built 
houses  they  usually  call  it  nature.  But  I  thank  you,  and  must  re- 
quite your  kindness."  Quickly  and  forcibly  taking  the  unwilling 
hand  of  my  friend,  she  held  it  firmly  between  her  bony  fingers  and 
considered  it  for  some  time  ;  then  letting  the  arm  drop,  with  a 
sigh,  she  said  in  a  tone  of  voice  expressive  of  deep  sorrow,  "  Son, 
son ;  you  descend  from  wicked  blood,  are  an  evil  scion  of  evil  ances- 
tors; but  fortunately  you  are  the  last  of  your  race,  for  your  chil- 
dren would  be  more  evil  still.  What  begins  in  evil  must  end  in 
evil.  Ah  !  ah !  your  physiognomy ;  your  expression ;  your  whole 
countenance ;  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  saw  a  murderer  before  me.  Yes ! 
yes ! — you  have  killed  a  young,  beautiful,  and  noble  maiden.  On  her 
dying  bed  she  long  struggled  with  grief  and  anguish.  O  ye  wicked 
men,  can  you  not  be  faithful  and  keep  your  oaths.  It  is  not  only 
daggers,  swords,  and  guns,  that  cut  and  kill ;  looks  and  sweet  words 
will  also  do  it.  Oh,  those  seductive  words,  and  all  that  pretended  af- 
fection !  Now  this  splendid  frame  that  first  dazzled  your  foolish  eye, 
breaks,  and  is  consigned  to  corruption.  Beauty  !  oh  thou  fatal  gift  of 
Heaven  !  and  besides,  murderer,  you  are  handsome  enough  to  kill 
others.  The  curses  of  your  father  follow  you  now  whether  you 
dwell  in  the  forest  or  in  your  finely  tapestried  rooms.  See  you  not, 
feel  you  not,  how,  coming  from  the  very  heart,  they  waft  misfor- 
tune and  misery  towards  you  as  the  stormy  wind  scatters  the  dry 
leaves  in  the  valleys  between  the  mountains  ?  Where  is  your 
peace,  your  happiness,  your  confidence  ?  All  scattered  like  the 
drifting  sand  in  the  barren  plain  ;  no  fruit  can  there  strike  root." 

Suddenly  the  crazy  woman  shouted  aloud  and  ran  shrieking  and 
Celling  discordantly  into  the  thickest  part  of  the  wood.  When  I 
.ooked  round  I  was  terrified  on  seeing  my  friend  become  pale  as 
death.  He  shook  so  violently  that  he  could  not  support  himself,  but 
sank  on  a  hillock  beside  him.  I  sat  down  by  him  and  endeavoured 
to  comfort  and  quiet  him. 

"Is  this  madwoman,"  he  exclaimed;  "inspired  by  truth  ?  does 
she  really  see  the  past  and  the  future,  or  are  those  only  mad  sounds 
which  she  utters  in  brutish  thoughtlessness,  and  if  it  be  so,  have  not 
such  random  words  been  perhaps  the  genuine  oracles  in  all  ages  ?" 


238  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

He  now  gave  way  to  tears  and  loud  lamentations;  lie  called 
loudly  in  the  air,  what  hitherto  he  had  so  carefully  and  mysteriously 
locked  up  in  his  heart. 

"  Yes  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  accursed  be  every  talent,  speech,  grace, 
and  all  the  gifts  with  which  a  malicious  fate  endowed  us  to  nun 
ourselves  and  others  !  Could  I  not  have  avoided  her  first  kind 
look?  Why  did  I  suffer  myself  to  be  infatuated,  to  exchange 
glance  for  glance,  and  then  word  for  word?  Yes  !  she  was  lovely, 
noble,  and  graceful;  but  in  my  heart  there  arose  together  with 
better  feelings,  the  vanity  that  even  she,  the  most  exalted,  distin- 
guished me.  I  approached  her  nearer,  more  boldly,  more  decidedly, 
and  my  pure  exalted  sentiments  surprised  and  won  her.  She  gave 
me  her  confidence.  Her  heart  was  so  virtuous,  so  noble;  all  her 
youthful  feelings  were  so  tender  and  fervent;  it  was  a  paradise  that 
opened  to  our  view.  Childishly  enough,  we  thought  that  no  higher 
happiness  on  earth  could  be  offered  us,  the  present  heavenly  moment 
sufficed.  But  now  passion  awoke  in  my  heart.  This  she  ex- 
pected not,  she  was  terrified  and  withdrew.  This  goaded  my  self- 
love,  I  felt  unhappy,  crushed,  and  ill.  Her  compassion  was  moved, 
and  she  no  longer  avoided  me.  By  means  of  an  attendant  in  our 
confidence,  we  were  able  to  meet  without  witnesses.  Our  inter- 
course became  more  tender,  our  love  more  defined  and  ardent;  but 
as  these  feelings  were  embodied  in  language,  and  expressed  more 
definitely,  the  paradisiacal  breath,  the  heavenly  bloom  was  fled  for 
ever.  It  was  happiness,  but  changed  in  character;  it  was  more 
earthly,  more  kindly,  more  confiding,  but  was  not  surrounded  by  that 
magic  which  had  transported  me  formerly,  so  that  I  could  fre- 
quently ask  myself  when  alone,  'are  you  really  happy?'  Alas!  my 
friend,  as  we  saw  each  other  so  often,  how  many  foolish  and  mad 
projects  were  then  conceived ! 

"  We  talked,  we  conversed  of  the  future  of  which  those  who  ar- 
dently love  never  think  in  the  early  period  of  their  ecstacies.  Once 
an  opportunity  of  an  alliance  likely  to  add  to  the  lustre  of  her 
house  presented  itself.  What  fury  and  bitter  rancour  were  aroused 
in  me !  For  only  appearing  favourably  disposed  towards  this  illus- 
trious alliance,  she  suffered  much  from  my  anger.  My  passion  was 
ignoble,  as  she  deeply  felt,  more  from  her  love  to  me,  than  from  the 
sufferings  it  caused  her.  Oh !  she  was  never  able  to  erase  from  her 
soul  this  picture  of  my  madness.  To  alleviate  my  sufferings  and  com- 
pletely to  reconcile  me,  she  stooped  to  my  mean  and  rude  nature.  Our 
hearts  harmonised  again,  but  from  the  lowering  clouds  that  now  sur- 
rounded me,  I  looked  back  with  yearnings  to  that  heavenly  serenity 
that  first  shone  dazzlingly  upon  me  so.  In  imagination  we  lived  as 
though  affianced,  and  dreamt  of  our  union,  of  unexpected  bliss,  of 
varied  pleasures  and  turns  of  fate  never  to  be  realised.  But  these 
were  misty  visions,  and  we  considered  the  greatest  improbabilities 
as  near  and  natural.  The  habitual  thoughts  of  our  love  gradually 
destroyed  necessary  precaution.  The  looks  of  spies  were  watch- 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  239 

ful,  and  were  sharpened  by  our  imprudence.  Rumours  were  cir- 
culated, which  perhaps  never  would  have  reached  the  prince  him- 
self, had  not  his  own  glance  suspected  and  discovered  our  connec- 
tion. He  now  learnt  more  from  his  questions  than  he  desired 
to  know,  and  far  more  than  was  in  accordance  with  truth.  One  even- 
ing he  sent  for  me  to  attend  him  alone  in  his  closet,  and  displayed 
to  me  in  this  serious  interview  all  the  nobleness  of  his  great  mind. 
Without  reproaching  me,  he  ascribed  to  himself  alone  the  imme- 
diate cause  of  my  presumption,  saying  that  he  had  treated  me  with 
too  much  confidence,  nay,  almost  like  a  son;  that  he  had  deviated 
too  much  from  his  rank  and  the  laws  of  etiquette ;  that  he  had  fool- 
ishly rejoiced  in  the  thought  of  his  daughter  being  able  by  inter- 
course with  me  to  improve  her  mind.  As  he  became  more  serious, 
I  assured  the  agitated  father  by  my  honour,  and  by  all  that  is 
sacred, — which  indeed  was  in  accordance  with  the  truth, — that  our 
mutual  passion  had  never  led  us  astray,  and  that  our  better  genius 
had  never  forsaken  us.  At  this  he  became  tranquil,  and  only  replied 
by  prohibiting  as  I  had  anticipated.  I  was  not  allowed  to  meet 
his  daughter  again  privately.  I  was  to  endeavour  by  degrees  to 
heal  the  wounds  which  our  separation  caused,  to  eradicate  the  affec- 
tion, which  I  had  so  rashly  kindled,  by  my  good  sense  and  demeanour, 
and  thereby  to  make  myself  worthy  to  regain  the  confidence  and 
love  of  the  prince. 

"  Suddenly  I  felt  as  if  the  veil  had  fallen  from  my  eyes,"  conti- 
nued Francis,  "  indeed,  I  may  say,  that  by  this  interview,  I  was 
quite  a  changed  being.  Truth  and  reality  had  now,  at  length,  with 
victorious  power,  asserted  their  ascendancy  over  me.  Many  periods 
of  life  may  be  compared  to  a  vivid  fantastic  dream ;  we  awake  to 
sober  consciousness,  but  still  feel  the  reality  of  the  vision. 

"But,  ah!  my  friend,  this  truth  created  a  hell  within  me.  My 
mind  yielded  to  the  noble  father  in  every  thing.  He  was  right  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  If  I  admired  Juliet,  and  recognised 
her  worth,  if  she  was  my  friend,  and  I  sufficiently  important  to 
elevate  her  mind,  what  had  that  to  do  with  our  passion  and  my 
efforts  to  possess  her?  With  this  conviction  I  was  now  penetrated, 
and  the  feeling  exerted  a  benign  influence  over  me.  But  how  dif- 
ferent were  her  feelings !  When  such  changes  occur,  women  usually 
suffer  from  the  consuming  fire  of  passion.  What  letters  did  I  re- 
ceive from  her,  when  I  had  communicated  to  her  my  resolution  and 
the  advice  that  we  must  submit  to  necessity !  I  almost  repeated  the 
words  which  I  had  heard  from  her  beautiful  lips  when  I  urged 
my  ardent  attachment.  ,  She  now  listened  in  a  spirit  different  from 
that  which  harassed  her  formerly ;  deaf  to  all  advice,  unsusceptible 
to  every  kindness,  inaccessible  to  conviction,  she  only  listened  to  the 
wild  suggestions  of  her  ardent  affection.  My  reason  seemed  to  her 
cowardice,  my  resignation  baseness.  She  alone  was  exclusively  to 
be  considered  in  the  question  that  agitated  my  heart.  In  short,  she 
now  played  the  same  part  that  I  had  done  formerly.  Looking  back 


240  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

upon  my  former  conduct  with  repentance  and  shame,  I  hoped  I 
should  be  able,  by  calm  perseverance,  to  bring  her  gradually  to  the 
same  conviction.  But  she  frustrated  my  hopes.  It  was  singular 
that  I  was  made  unhappy  by  possessing,  in  the  fullest  measure,  what 
I  had  formerly  considered  my  supreme  felicity  ;  and  that  my  most 
fervent  desire  extended  no  further  than  to  be  able  to  restore  her  to 
tranquillity,  nay,  even  to  produce  coldness  and  indifference. 

"  So  whimsical  are  the  gods  frequently  towards  us  in  the  bestowal 
of  their  gifts. 

"  My  letters  grieved  her  deeper  and  deeper,  as  she  showed  by 
her  replies.  Thence  it  was  that  I  could  not  but  wish  myself  once 
more  able  to  obtain  a  tete-a-tete  with  her  in  some  evening  hour,  such 
as  I  had  formerly  enjoyed  over  and  over  again.  By  bribery,  en- 
treaty, and  humiliation,  I  succeeded. 

"  But,  oh,  Heavens  !  how  different  was  this  Juliet  from  her  who 
once  had  so  enraptured  and  inspired  me.  With  her  grief,  her  mortified 
feelings  and  her  offended  pride  she  resembled  a  raving  Bacchante.  On 
approaching  her,  I  said  to  myself :  '  To  this  state  then  has  my  love, 
vanity,  and  eloquence,  reduced  her  !  Oh  !  ye  men,  who,  by  your 
power,  are  able  to  elevate  these  tender  beings  to  angels,  or  change 
them  to  wild  furies!'  But  these  reflections  came  too  late.  If  her  let- 
ters were  violent,  her  words  were  raging.  Nothing  in  the  whole 
world  she  desired,  except  my  love.  She  cared  for  nothing  ;  every  thing 
seemed  right  and  desirable, — night  into  the  open  world,  sacrifice  of 
station,  mortification  of  her  father  and  family.  I  was  terrified  at 
this  distraction,  that  seemed  to  fear  and  dread  nothing.  The  more 
persuasive  my  manner,  and  the  more  desirous  I  was  to  convince  her 
of  the  unavoidable  necessity  of  submitting,  the  more  furious  in 
words  and  gestures  she  became.  She  would  fly  with  me  imme- 
diately. I  felt  it  required  nothing  more  than  to  express  the  wish, 
and  she  would  have  surrendered  herself,  in  this  distraction,  totally 
and  unconditionally.  I  was  wretched  from  my  inmost  heart,  in- 
deed, all  my  energies  were  annihilated. 

"  I  learned  that  the  prince  had  only  spoken  to  her  in  hints ;  the  truth 
was  known  to  her  only  from  our  correspondence.  She  blamed  me, 
her  father,  and  fate,  and  only  became  calm  after  a  flood  of  tears.  I 
was  obliged  to  promise  to  see  her  again  in  a  few  days  in  order  to  dis- 
cuss the  means  of  her  flight.  Thus  my  feelings  were  so  changed  that 
I  feared  this  once  adored  Juliet,  and,  indeed,  could  not  help  despising 
her.  And  yet  she  was  the  same,  and  only  the  unhappy  passion  that 
I  had  infused  from  my  heart  into  hers  had  rendered  her  thus  infatuated. 
I  trembled  again  to  see  her.  I  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say,  what 
pretext  for  delay,  or  what  excuses  to  invent.  Thus  some  weeks 
passed,  during  which  we  only  exchanged  letters.  To  conclude,  I  saw 
her  again.  She  seemed  ill,  but  still  in  that  excitement  which  would 
not  listen  to  reason.  She  had  provided  a  carriage,  packed  up  her 
jewels,  made  the  necessary  preparations  on  the  frontier,  procured 
passports,  and  powerful  protections  in  distant  countries  ;  in  short  she 
had  done  all  that  madness  of  an  unbounded  love  could  undertake.  I 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  241 

treated  her  as  an  invalid  who  does  not  know  her  own  state,  humoured 
all  her  extravagances,  and  praised  her  most  whimsical  plans.  Thus 
she  thought  we  agreed,  and  in  a  week  we  were  to  fly  during  a  mas- 
querade while  all  were  busied,  and  no  one  could  be  recognised.  To 
satisfy  her  for  the  moment  I  agreed  to  every  thing,  but  proposed  in 
my  own  heart  to  quit  the  court  and  the  town.  While  we  were  thus 
discussing  our  highly  reasonable  projects  I  suddenly  perceived  behind 
us  the  prince,  who  had  been  for  sometime  listening  to  our  conversation. 
The  scene  which  then  took  place  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe.  The 
father's  anger  overstepped  all  bounds  on  finding  me  untrue  to  my 
promise,  since  he  was  convinced  that  I  quite  agreed  to  all  the  wild 
plans  of  his  daughter.  She  cast  herself  at  his  feet  totally  unlike  the 
beautiful  being  she  was  formerly,  she  resembled  an  automaton 
moved  by  powerful  springs,  a  figure  only  manifesting  life  in  con- 
vulsive gestures.  It  is  astonishing  that  we  ever  outlive  some  moments. 
I  was  banished,  obliged  to  fly  into  solitude,  and  for  a  long  time  heard 
nothing  of  the  city  or  what  occurred  there,  as  I  avoided  all  inter- 
course with  men.  When  I  in  some  measure  recovered  my  tranquil- 
lity of  mind,  and  was  able  to  bear  the  sight  of  friends,  I  heard 
that  she  was  suffering  from  an  incurable  disease,  and  that  her  life  was 
despaired  of  by  the  physician.  How  whimsically  does  fate  sport 
with  man  and  all  human  intentions  !  I  was  informed  that  her  father 
in  the  extremity  of  grief,  would  willingly  have  given  me  his  beloved 
child  had  he  been  able  thereby  to  save  her  ;  that  he  would  have  de- 
spised the  opinion  of  the  world,  and  the  objections  of  his  family,  could 
he  by  these  means  have  saved  his  Juliet,  by  whose  illness  he  had  first 
learnt  how  much  he  loved  her,  and  how  much  his  life  was  bound  up 
in  hers.  All  was  in  vain, — she  died  in  agonies,  calling  for  me,  and 
the  disconsolate  father  heaped  execrations  upon  me  that  will  overtake 
Hie,  ay, — as  surely  as  her  own." 

These  are,  as  nearly  as  possible,  the  affecting  confessions  of  my  un- 
happy friend.  He  added,  in  conclusion,  that  the  whole  of  his  pro- 
perty would  be  lost,  unless  he  discovered  a  certain  document  for  which 
he  had  long  been  searching,  but  which  he  could  find  nowhere. 

There  are  sufferings  during  which  it  is  foolish  to  make  even  the 
attempt  at  offering  consolation.  Such  sufferings  must  be  lived 
through,  they  are  peculiar  to  human  nature,  and  he  who  is  not  over- 
whelmed by  them  but  survives  them,  will  afterwards  see  that  to  pass 
such  a  severe  reprobation  was  essential  to  his  happiness. 

"  I  am  convinced,"  said  my  friend  a  few  days  afterwards  when  I 
took  leave  of  him,  "  that  these  execrations  and  the  prophesies  of  the 
old  fury  will  visit  me.  My  life  will  be  consumed  in  illness,  misery, 
delirium,  and  poverty.  The  spirit  of  the  departed  will  tread  in  my 
footsteps  and  sow  poison,  where,  perhaps,  some  joy  might  otherwise 
have  sprung." 

I  began  to  comfort  him,  calling  to  my  aid,  hope  and  consolation 
from  every  source,  because  such  apprehensions  are  generally  imaginary, 
and  may  be  combated.  Hope  is  at  least  more  infinite  than  the  all- 


242  THE  KLAIJSENBURG. 

engrossing  sensation  of  such  visionary  fear.  We  separated,  and  for  a 
long  time  I  heard  nothing  of  my  friend  Francis.  I  lived  in  foreign 
countries  and  returned  some  years  after  the  period  in  question. 

We  had  not  kept  up  any  correspondence.  I  was  therefore  sur- 
prised and  delighted  by  his  first  letter  which  I  received  in  my  own 
comfortable  home.  There  was  no  allusion  to  his  former  sufferings  ; 
all  was  forgotten.  Time  and  fortune  had  transformed  my  friend  into 
a  truly  new  being.  He  wrote  to  me  of  his  approaching  marriage. 
The  most  beautiful  girl  of  the  country,  young,  cheerful,  and  innocent, 
had  bestowed  her  affections  upon  him  ;  and  on  the  very  day  on  which 
their  vows  were  exchanged,  he  had,  after  years  of  fruitless  search,  dis- 
covered the  important  document  which  would  complete  their  nuptial 
happiness.  The  melancholy  time,  he  informed  me,  had  vanished 
from  his  mind,  his  youth  seemed  renewed,  and  now  only  he  began 
to  live.  In  a  week  his  marriage  was  to  be  celebrated,  and  he  urged 
me  to  come  and  be  a  witness  of  his  happiness. 

It  would  have  delighted  me  to  have  complied  with  his  invita- 
tion, had  not  my  uncle,  who  lived  forty  miles  distant,  and  was  then 
lying  on  his  death-bed,  called  me  from  home.  The  prince,  who  bit- 
terly hated  and  persecuted  my  friend,  had  died  in  the  meanwhile, 
so  that,  in  all  human  probability,  there  was  the  prospect  that  every 
thing  ominous,  menacing,  and  fatal,  would  fade  away  and  be  for- 
gotten, and  that  spirits  of  fortune  and  delight  would  henceforth 
draw  my  friend's  car  of  life. 

My  stay  with  my  uncle,  who  was  dying,  was  protracted.  His 
sufferings  lasted  longer  than  his  physicians  had  expected,  and  I  was 
glad  that  my  presence  was  so  consoling  and  beneficial  to  him. 
After  his  death,  I  had  various  business  to  transact,  to  execute  his 
will,  to  make  arrangements  with  the  remaining  relatives,  part  of  his 
fortune  being  left  to  me,  and  to  settle  all  to  our  mutual  satisfaction. 
As  journeys  were  required  for  these  matters,  nearly  eighteen  months 
elapsed  before  they  were  completed.  The  journeys  had  carried  me  far 
from  our  neighbourhood,  and  I  must  confess  that  these  circumstances, 
and  the  pressure  of  business,  had  almost  caused  me  to  forget  my 
friend  Francis.  He  had  not  written  to  me,  nor  had  I  heard  any 
thing  of  him,  and  I  was,  therefore,  convinced  that  it  was  well  with 
him  ;  that  he  was  married  and  happy  in  his  new  condition.  Being 
soon  after  near  Switzerland,  I  made  a  tour  to  that  country,  and  then 
visited  a  watering  place  on  the  Rhine,  to  which  my  medical  adviser 
had  long  before  recommended  inc. 

Here  I  abandoned  myself  to  amusements,  enjoyed  the  beauties 
of  nature  during  my  rambles,  and  felt  happier  than  I  had  been  for 
some  time.  Being  one  day  at  the  table  d'hote,  I  accidentally  looked 
over  the  list  of  visitors,  and  found  that  my  friend  Francis,  with  his 
wife,  had  been  a  week  in  the  town.  I  wondered  he  had  not  found  me 
out,  as  my  name  must  have  struck  him  in  the  list.  However,  I  ac- 
counted for  his  not  doing  so,  by  saying  to  myself  that  he  had  not 
looked  over  the  leaves  attentively,  that  he  had  not  heard  my  name 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  243 

mentioned,  or  that  possibly  lie  might  be  seriously  ill  and  would  see  no 
company.  Satisfied  so  far,  I  called  upon  him,  and  was  told  lie  was 
not  at  home.  I  hoped  to  meet  him  in  my  walks,  but  perceived  him 
nowhere.  Calling  the  following  day,  I  received  the  same  answer, 
that  he  had  gone  out.  I  left  my  card,  requesting  he  would  pay  me 
a  visit  or  tell  me  when  he  would  receive  me.  I  heard  nothing  from 
him.  The  next  morning  early,  I  called  again,  and  the  servant  again 
replied,  with  a  troubled  countenance,  that  his  master  was  already 
from  home. 

Now  I  plainly  saw,  that  Francis  did  not  choose  to  see  me,  and  had 
denied  himself.  I  endeavoured  to  call  to  my  memory,  whether  I 
had  at  any  time  given  him  offence  ;  but,  after  the  strictest  scrutiny, 
could  not  find  the  least  spot  on  my  conscience  respecting  him.  I 
therefore,  wrote  him  rather  a  severe  letter,  requiring  him  to  see  me, 
and  that  not  merely  from  friendship  to  me,  but  from  the  respect  he 
owed  himself. 

When  I  called  again,  I  was  admitted,  and  having  waited  for 
some  time  in  the  room,  I  saw  a  stranger  approaching  from  the  ad- 
joining chamber,  not  like  a  human  being,  but  a  tottering,  trembling 
skeleton,  with  a  pale,  sunken  countenance,  which,  but  for  the  fiery 
eye,  one  might  have  taken  for  the  face  of  a  corpse.  "  Great  God!" 
I  exclaimed  with  horror,  as  I  recognised  in  this  spectre  my  friend 
Francis,  that  once  handsome,  noble  fellow. 

I  ^ank  terrified  into  a  chair,  and  he  sat  down  by  me,  took  my 
hand  between  his  withered  fingers,  and  said,  "  Yes!  my  friend, 
thus  we  again  meet,  and  you  now  understand  why  I  wished  to  spare 
you  this  sad  sight.  Yes !  friend,  all  those  curses  have  been  realised, 
and  calamity  has  overtaken  me,  however  actively  I  endeavoured  to 
escape  it ;  my  life  is  exhausted  by  disease,  as  well  as  that  of  my 
youthful  wife,  once  a  paragon  of  beauty ;  I  am  a  beggar,  and  all 
hope  is  gone  for  ever." 

Still  I  could  not  recover  from  my  astonishment ;  the  first  chilling 
terror  was  succeeded  by  the  deepest  compassion  and  ineffable  sym- 
pathy in  my  soul,  and  my  unfortunate  friend  saw  my  tears  flow. 

"  But  how  has  all  this  been  possible?"  I  exclaimed,  "  Speak; 
confide  all  to  your  friend." 

"  Spare  me,"  he  said,  in  a  faint  voice,  "  let  us  throw  a  veil  over 
these  calamities,  for  what  good  can  it  do  you  to  know  the  why  and 
wherefore  ?  You  would  not  comprehend  nor  believe  it,  and  still 
less  could  your  advice  or  consolation  avail  any  thing." 

I  could  make  no  reply,  his  distress  seemed  so  great,  that  he 
was,  perhaps,  right  in  what  he  said.  Words,  details,  and  com- 
plaints, are  often  only  stings  to  the  deadly  wound.  I  requested  him 
to  introduce  me  to  his  wife.  He  led  her  in.  She  seemed  to  suffer 
equally  with  himself,  but  still  showed  evident  traces  of  beauty.  She 
was  of  a  tall,  noble  figure,  her  blue  eye  was  of  a  piercing  clearness, 
and  her  sweet-toned  voice  was  full  of  soul.  After  some  conversa- 


244  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

tion,  the  physician  entered,  and  I  took  my  leave,  making  it  a  condi- 
tion, that  in  future  he  would  not  refuse  to  see  me. 

I  required  rest  to  collect  myself,  and,  therefore,  sought  the 
most  solitary  spot  to  arrange  my  thoughts  and  feelings.  How  strange, 
in  these  moments,  appeared  human  life,  friendship,  death,  and 
health  !  In  these,  my  dreams,  I  was  interrupted  by  a  friendly  voice 
addressing  me.  It  was  the  physician,  an  elderly,  good-natured  man, 
who  sat  down  beside  me.  "  I  have  learned,"  he  began,  "  that  you 
are  a  youthful  friend  of  our  poor  patient,  and  have  sought  you  to 
consult  with  you,  respecting  his  lamentable  and  enigmatical  state. 
I  have  never  met  with  a  similar  illness,  I  do  not  understand  it,  and, 
therefore,  am  but  groping  in  the  dark  with  my  remedies  ;  nor  do  I 
know  whether  the  waters  here  are  salutary  to  him  or  his  sick  wife,  who 
seems  wasting  away  from  the  same  complaint.  I  have  no  name  for  this 
wasting  fever,  which  defies  all  known  remedies.  Sometimes  I  could 
almost  imagine  them  insane,  did  not  reason  absolutely  manifest  itself. 
But  even  should  their  minds  be  unimpaired,  they  are,  doubtless, 
hypochondriacs.  And  the  worst  is,  the  count  will  not  communicate 
freely,  but,  on  the  contrary,  anxiously  avoids  all  questions  respecting 
his  condition,  and  all  inquiries  as  to  its  cause  and  commencement. 
I  do  not  wish  to  irritate  him,  though  my  inquiries  and  questions 
have  more  than  once  had  that  effect,  and  yet  it  seems  necessary  to 
learn  from  himself  the  history  of  his  complaint.  I  therefore  request 
you,  dear  sir,  to  exert  your  influence  with  him,  as  his  friend,  that 
he  may  confess  to  us  the  origin  of  his  illness.  If  I  once  knew  this, 
it  mioiit,  perhaps,  be  possible  to  afford  relief  to  both  of  them.  If 
the  disease  is  mental,  of  which  I  feel  almost  convinced,  the  physi- 
cian must  be  in  their  confidence  to  afford  relief ;  but  if  this  is  with- 
held, he  may  cause  even  death,  not  only  by  his  prescriptions,  but 
by  an  unguarded  word.  I  therefore  conjure  you  to  do  all  in 
your  power  to  make  him  confide  every  thing  to  you."  I  promised 
all  he  desired,  for  I  had  long  entertained  the  same  opinion.  But 
when,  on  the  following  day,  I  remonstrated  with  my  friend,  I  found 
the  task  more  difficult  than  I  expected,  as  he  was  inaccessible  on 
that  point.  He  did  not  yield  until  I  united  tears  to  my  entreaties, 
and  his  suffering  wife  joined  with  me,  as  the  hope  arose  within  her 
that  the  physician  might  be  able  to  afford  relief  to  her  husband. 
He  stipulated  that  whatever  he  should  communicate  should  be  com- 
municated in  private  to  me  alone,  undisturbed,  and  without  even 
the  presence  of  his  wife,  who  would  be  much  pained  at  the  relation. 

Thus  was  it  arranged.  My  little  room  looking  on  the  garden 
was  so  quiet  and  retired,  that  no  intrusion  was  to  be  feared,  and 
after  a  frugal  supper  I  dismissed  the  servant,  enjoining  him  not  to 
admit  any  one.  The  invalid  countess  was  left  with  her  attendants, 
and  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance  kindly  read  some  amusing  work  to 
her  during  her  husband's  absence. 

We  sat  then  in  my  well  lighted  little  room,  while  the  summer 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  245 

breezes  murmured  sweetly  through  the  trees  without.  My  sick 
friend  was  on  the  sofa,  and  the  physician  and  myself  were  opposite, 
when  Francis  began  slowly  and  with  many  pauses,  (as  speaking 
seemed  painful  to  him)  the  following  narrative : 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  you  see  me  again,  ill  and  dying,  and  my  wife, 
who  but  two  years  since  was  a  paragon  of  health  and  beauty,  is  no 
less  afflicted.  The  Klausenburg  which  more  than  once  sheltered  us 
so  hospitably  is  become  a  desolate  ruin ;  storms  and  fire  have 
destroyed  it,  and  whatever  useful  material  remained  was  wrested 
from  it  by  my  cruel  creditors  in  derision,  and  sold  for  a  mere  trifle. 
You  know,  my  friend,  the  belief  or  rather  superstition  that  followed 
me.  but  with  this  I  will  not  weary  our  good  physician,  as  it  had 
no  sensible  influence  on  my  immediate  fate.  I  have  moreover,  so 
much  of  the  marvellous  to  tell  in  the  recent  events  that  have  befallen 
me,  that  it  will  be  more  than  sufficient  fully  to  convince  the  learned 
doctor  that  I  am  insane. 

"  Young  as  I  was  I  had  already  resigned  life,  since  I  considered  it 
completely  at  a  close.  But  as  it  frequently  happens  that  the  power 
of  a  beautiful  spring  will  revive  a  tree  apparently  lifeless,  so  that 
its  branches  again  become  verdant,  and  at  last  one  blossom  springs 
from  them,  so  it  happened  with  me.  Travelling  about  in  a  misan- 
thropical mood  I  stopped  in  a  small  town  situate  in  a  delightful 
country,  and  through  my  introductions  made  acquaintance  with  some 
interesting  people.  One  of  these,  a  distant  relative,  who  received  me 
most  kindly,  introduced  me  to  his  family,  where,  for  the  first  time 
I  saw  my  beloved  Elizabeth,  and  at  the  second  visit  I  had  lost  my 
heart  and  peace  of  mind.  But  wherefore  dwell  on  charms  that  are 
fled?  Suffice  it  to  say  that  I  was  enraptured,  and  flattered  myself 
that  my  feelings  were  understood,  and  might  perhaps  in  a  short  time 
be  returned.  Elizabeth  was  residing  with  an  aged  aunt;  they  were 
neither  of  them  wealthy  though  they  belonged  to  an  ancient  family. 
I  was  superior  to  the  talk  and  astonishment  of  the  townspeople,  and  I 
stayed  a  long  while  in  this  insignificant  place,  where  there  was 
neither  a  theatre  to  amuse,  nor  large  assemblies,  balls,  and  fes- 
tivals to  engage  me.  I  was  so  happy  that  I  only  lived  for,  and 
enjoyed,  the  present  moment.  The  family  was  very  musical,  and 
Elizabeth  a  truly  accomplished  performer  on  the  piano  forte.  Her 
voice  was  highly  cultivated,  full-toned,  and  beautiful,  and  she  agree- 
ably surprised  me  by  joining  in  my  perhaps  one-sided  taste  for 
ancient  composition.  Harmony,  skill,  and  kind  looks  from  her 
beautiful  eyes, — all  this  so  charmed  me  that  weeks  vanished  like  days, 
and  days  like  hours  in  the  poetical  intoxication. 

"  I  spoke  of  the  family.  The  aun  too  was  musical,  and  accom- 
panied us  when  we  sang.  I  also  found  myself  benefited  by  be- 
coming again  conscious  of  the  talents  which  I  had  so  long  neglected 
to  exercise.  Yes,  indeed,  talents,  amiability,  social  gifts,  and  pleasing 
manners,  &c." — continued  Francis  after  a  pause,  during  which  he 
seemed  lost  in  thought — "  the  vanity  of  possessing  these  graces  have 


246  THE  KLAUSENBURG, 

rendered  me  and  others  unhappy.  Speaking  of  the  family,  I  must 
now  mention  Ernestine,  an  elder  sister  of  my  wife's.  Their  parents 
had  died  early  in  life.  They  had  lived  at  a  distance  from  that  small 
town,  in  what  is  called  good  style.  This  they  did  without  considering 
their  fortune,  and  the  consequence  was  that  they  became  impoverished 
and  involved  in  debt.  Where  this  confusion  breaks  in,  where  the  ne- 
cessity of  the  moment  ever  absorbs  the  security  of  the  days  and 
weeks,  few  men  possess  sufficient  energy  and  resolution  firmly  to  hold 
the  rudder  amid  the  tumult  of  a  returning  storm.  And  thus  the 
wildest  and  most  confused  management  had  broken  into  this  ruined 
household.  The  parents  not  only  diverted  themselves  in  banquet- 
ing, dress,  and  theatres,  but,  as  it  were,  even  with  new  and  singular 
misfortunes.  The  latter  were  more  particularly  caused  by  their  eldest 
daughter,  Ernestine.  This  poor  being  had,  when  only  three  years 
old,  during  the  confusion  and  bustle  of  a  banquet,  unnoticed  by 
any  one,  taken  up  a  bottle  of  strong  liquid,  and  drinking  it, 
became  intoxicated  by  it,  and  thus  had  unconsciously  fallen  down  a 
high  staircase. 

"  The  accident  had  scarcely  been  observed,  and  was  lightly  thought 
of  when  discovered.  The  physician,  a  jovial  friend  of  the  family, 
instead  of  applying  the  proper  remedies,  joked  on  the  occurrence,  and 
hence  it  was  that  those  consequences  soon  appeared  in  the  child,  which 
she  could,  in  after  years,  justly  attribute  to  want  of  affection  in  her 
parents.  The  chest-bone  and  spine  were  dislocated,  so  that  as  she 
grew  up,  she  became  more  and  more  deformed.  Being  rather  tall, 
the  double  hump  was  more  striking,  her  arms  and  hands  were  exces- 
sively long  and  thin,  and  her  lean  body  quite  out  of  proportion  to 
her  long  legs.  Her  face  had  a  singular  expression,  the  little  lively 
and  cunning  eyes  could  hardly  peep  forth  from  beneath  the  bony 
vault  of  her  forehead  and  the  broad,  flattened  nose,  the  chin  was 
peaked,  and  the  cheeks  were  sunken.  Thus  this  unfortunate  being 
was  a  remarkable  foil  to  her  sister  Elizabeth.  Their  aunt,  when  she 
heard  the  total  ruin  of  the  family,  had  interfered  and  assisted  them  as 
far  as  her  limited  means  permitted.  Thus  the  younger  daughter  was 
saved  and  continued  healthy,  since  the  father's  sister  had  taken  the 
children  upon  the  death  of  their  parents,  for  the  purpose  of  educating 
them.  The  physical  care  of  Ernestine  came  too  late,  but  her  mind 
was  cultivated,  and  her  talents  were  awakened.  She  showed  herself 
intelligent,  learned  with  ease,  and  retained  what  she  had  once  ac- 
quired, evidently  surpassing  her  sister  in  wit  and  presence  of  mind. 
Being  fond  of  reading  philosophical  works,  she  exercised  her  judg- 
ment and  showed  so  much  acuteness,  that  she  often  startled  even  men 
by  her  bold  and  abrupt  opinions  ;  not  being  united  to  her  own  sex 
by  beauty  and  grace,  she  not  unfrequcntly  exercised  a  more  than 
masculine  power.  But  what  almost  seemed  to  border  on  the  mar- 
vellous was  her  great  talent  for  music.  Never  had  I  heard  the 
piano  forte  played  in  such  a  perfect  manner ;  every  difficulty  vanished 
before  her,  and  she  only  laughed  when  difficult  passages  were  men- 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  247 

tioned  to  her.  No  doubtthe  extraordinary  span  of  her  hand  and 
fingers  assisted  her  in  excelling  all  that  can  be  done  by  an  ordinary 
hand.  Being  also  well  versed  in  the  art  of  composition,  she  com- 
posed with  ease  long  pieces  of  music  which  we  often  executed  to 
her  delight. 

"  Could  not  such  a  being  be  happy  independent  of  others  ?  Cer- 
tainly, if  she  had  resigned  herself  to  her  lot,  if  she  could  have  forgotten 
she  was  a  woman.  Unfortunately  for  her,  all  men  forgot  it  who  ap- 
proached her,  but  she  could  never  raise  herself  beyond  the  limit  so 
as  to  belong  to  the  other  sex,  or  to  none. 

"  This  singular  being  attracted  me  in  a  peculiar  manner,  both  by  her 
excellencies  and  her  repulsiveness.  When  they  performed  and  I  sang 
her  compositions,  there  beamed  in  moments  of  excitement  from  her 
small  eyes,  a  wonderful,  poetic  spirit,  liked  a  veiled  angel  humbled  in 
the  dust,  with  benign  yet  terrifying  splendour.  This  frequently  made 
me  forget  that  she  was  the  sister  of  my  Elizabeth. 

"  Elizabeth  had  before  refused  some  suitors  who  had  earnestly  courted 
her.  Entering  once  the  anti-chamber  unannounced,  I  heard  both  sisters 
engaged  in  a  lively  conversation,  in  which  my  name  was  mentioned. 
'  You  will  not  accept  him,  I  hope,'  cried  Ernestine  ;  '  he  suits 
neither  you  nor  us;  they  say  he  is  not  very  rich,  but  he  is  so  proud,  so 
self-sufficient,  so  convinced  of,  and  so  penetrated  with,  his  own 
excellence,  that  he  excites  my  indignation  whenever  he  comes  near 
us.  You  call  him  amiable,  noble  ;  but  I  tell  you  he  is  dogmatical  and 
obstinate;  and,  believe  me,  his  mental  gifts  are  not  so  great  as  you 
seem  to  think.' 

"  With  a  gentle  voice  Elizabeth  undertook  my  defence,  but  her 
sister  discussed  all  the  bad  traits  in  my  character  so  much  the  more, 
and  passed  all  my  faults  in  review.  Finding  that  I  was  the  subject 
of  so  much  discussion,  I  would  not  surprise  them  by  entering  imme- 
diately, and  thus  I  discovered,  against  my  expectation,  the  dislike  the 
eldest  sister  entertained  for  me.  I  therefore  resolved  to  reconcile  this 
unfortunate  being,  for  whom  life  had  so  few  charms  and  joys,  by  kind- 
ness and  benevolence.  When  thev  had  ceased  I  entered,/  and  the 
aunt  also  joining  us  we  immediately  commenced  our  musical  exer- 
cises, by  which  means  I  could  best  conceal  my  embarrassment. 

"  After  a  few  visits  I  actually  succeeded  in  disposing  Ernestine  more 
kindly  towards  me.  When  it  happened  that  we  were  alone,  we  were 
deeply  engaged  in  serious  conversation,  and  I  could  not  help  admiring 
both  her  mind  and  acquirements.  I  could  not  but  agree  with  her, 
when  she  often  spoke  with  contempt  of  those  men  who  only  esteem 
and  love  in  woman  the  transient  and  mutable  charms  that  pass  away 
with  their  youth.  She  was  also  fond  of  railing  at  those  girls  whoso 
frequently  pass  themselves  off  as  phenomena,  and  only,  as  it  were, 
wish  to  please  as  dolls  of  fashion  and  well-dressed  blocks.  She  re- 
vealed without  affectation  the  wealth  of  her  mind,  her  deep  feeling, 
and  her  lofty  thoughts,  so  that,  in  admiration  of  her  mighty  soul,  I 
hardly  remembered  her  deformed  person.  She  pressed  my  hand 

S 


248  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

kindly,  and  seemed  perfectly  happy  when,  we  had  thus  chatted 
an  hour  away.  I  was  not  less  rejoiced  when  I  perceived  how  her 
friendship  for  me  apparently  increased  every  day. 

"  It  struck  me  as  a  weakness  in  my  beloved,  that  she  was  dis- 
pleased at  our  intimacy.  I  did  not  understand  this  petty  jealousy, 
and  censured  it  when  alone  with  her,  as  showing  too  much  female 
weakness.  On  the  other  hand,  I  was  pleased  when  Ernestine  gave 
me  evident  proofs  of  her  friendship,  when  my  appearance  delighted 
her,  when  she  was  ready  to  show  me  a  book  or  piece  of  music,  or 
told  me  how  she  had  prepared  herself  for  a  conversation  with  me 
on  some  important  subject.  This  genuine  friendship  seemed  to  me 
so  desirable,  that  I  anticipated  great  delight  at  the  thought  that  she 
would,  in  our  married  state,  complete  the  measure  of  our  love  by 
mutual  confidence.  Their  aunt  approved  of  my  engagement  with 
Elizabeth,  and  our  vows  were  exchanged.  On  this  occasion  Ernes- 
tine was  not  present,  being  confined  by  illness  to  her  chamber. 
I  did  not  see  her  on  the  day  following,  and  when  I  wished  to  call 
on  her,  my  betrothed  said,  '  Do  not  disturb  her,  dear  friend,  she  is 
not  quite  herself,  and  it  is  better  to  let  her  passion  subside.'  '  What 
has  happened?'  I  asked,  astonished.  '  It  is  strange,'  replied  Eliza- 
beth, '  that  you  have  not,  long  ere  this,  remarked  how  ardently  she 
loves  you  ?'  I  was  struck  dumb  with  terror  and  astonishment  at  this 
information,  which  startled  me  the  more,  since,  strange  to  say,  I  had 
considered  this  intellectual  being  totally  incapable  of  love  ;  as  though 
passion  did  not  always  run  counter  to  possibility,  truth,  nature,  and  rea- 
son, if  these  opposed  themselves,  as,  indeed,  I  had  myself  experienced 
in  my  own  life  in  a  similar  manner.  '  Yes,'  continued  Elizabeth, 
*  almost  at  the  very  time  you  entered  our  house,  I  remarked  her  par- 
tiality to  you,  but  her  predilection  manifested  itself  more  decidedly, 
when  you  began  to  show  a  preference  for  me,  when  you  became 
more  friendly,  and  thus  gained  my  confidence.  For  a  long  time, 
she  concealed  her  affection  under  a  pretended  dislike,  which,  how- 
ever, did  not  deceive  me.  Oh !  beloved,  the  mind  and  feelings,  the 
enthusiasm  and  passions  of  this  singular  being  possess  such  extraor- 
dinary power  and  intensity,  that  I  have  been  compelled  ever  since 
I  comprehended  her  character,  to  admire  her  as  much  as  to  fear  her, 
and  to  stand  in  awe  at  her  gigantic  intellect.  When,  some  years 
ago,  I  took  lessons  in  music,  and  made  rapid  progress,  according  to 
the  testimony  of  my  instructor,  she  only  ridiculed  my  childlike  satis- 
faction as  she  called  it.  She  had  never  before  thought  of  learning 
music,  and  now  devoted  herself  with  all  her  energy  to  this  accom- 
plishment. She  practised  day  and  night,  and  her  master  no  longer 
satisfying  her,  she  availed  herself  of  the  presence  of  a  celebrated 
composer,  and  became  his  pupil.  I  could  not  comprehend  the 
mental  as  well  as  physical  energy,  with  which  she  devoted  herself 
unceasingly,  almost  without  sleep  and  refreshments,  and  with  un- 
wearied zeal  to  the  practice  of  this  art.  It  was  then  she  learned 
composition  and  gained  her  master's  praise  and  admiration.  It  was 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  249 

not  long,  however,  before  she  found  fault  with  him,  fancying  his 
execution  not  sufficiently  fiery  and  enthusiastic,  his  compositions  not 
sufficiently  original  and  impassioned.  He  submitted,  and  agreed 
with  her.  All  men,  she  used  to  say,  lie  constantly  in  a  half-sleep- 
ing state,  being  almost  always,  as  it  were,  in  a  stupor,  similar  to  the 
plant  which  grows,  blooms,  and  is  beautiful,  diffusing  odour,  and 
possessing  powers,  without  consciousness.  What  would  men  accom- 
plish were  they  truly  awake  in  their  wakeful  state  ?  And  so  she  de- 
voted herself  to  philosophy,  reading  works  on  medicine,  anatomy, 
and  other  subjects,  which  are  usually  too  abstruse  and  distasteful  to 
her  sex.  We,  as  well  as  her  acquaintance,  could  not  help  being 
astonished  at  her.  And  thus,  dear  Francis,  she  will  certainly  be- 
come insane  in  this  passion  of  love,  and  destroy  her  own  peace  of 
mind.' 

"  Elizabeth  now  also  described  to  me  all  the  extravagances  she 
committed  when  she  heard  of  our  engagement;  at  first,  she  in- 
tended to  destroy  both  herself  and  sister ;  then  again  she  said  she 
knew  how  to  conquer  me,  so  that  I  should  love  her  and  abandon 
Elizabeth,  whom  she  excelled  both  in  goodness  and  intellect. 

"  I  was  naturally  grieved  at  this  news,  feeling  full  well  how  im- 
prudently I  had  acted  in  making  such  friendly  advances  to  Ernes- 
tine, in  my  endeavours  to  reconcile  her.  I  was  somewhat  relieved, 
when,  a  few  days  afterwards,  Elizabeth  told  me  that  her  sister  had 
apologised  with  tears  for  what  she  had  spoken  in  anger,  that  she  had 
conjured  her  not  to  communicate  to  me  any  thing  of  these  aberra- 
tions, and  only  implored  her  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  us  to  our 
future  residence,  as  she  could  not  possibly  live  without  the  company 
of  her  sister  and  myself,  without  our  conversation  and  our  music. 

"  Now  plans  and  preparations  were  made,  and  the  aunt  accompanied 
us  to  the  Klausenburg,  to  celebrate,  with  a  few  friends,  our  nuptials 
in  quiet,  as  Elizabeth  had  always  been  excessively  averse  from  pomp 
and  display.  I  had  had  a  few  apartments  and  the  ball-room  pre- 
pared, as  far  as  it  was  possible,  the  greater  part  of  the  castle  being 
in  ruins.  But  Elizabeth  had  a  poetical  predilection  for  old  castles, 
solitary  mountainous  countries,  and  the  historical  legends  connected 
with  them.  After  the  wedding,  we  intended  to  take  up  our  resi- 
dence in  a  new  house  not  far  distant,  and  only  occasionally  to  spend 

few  days  or  hours  in  the  Klausenburg. 

"  We  arrived;  the  gate  was  opened  to  us,  and  the  first  object  that 
met  our  view  in  the  court-yard,  from  amidst  the  ivy  that  twined  the 
high  walls,  was  the  old  mad  Sibyl,  whom  you,  my  friend,  knew 
some  years  ago.  My  wife  was  terrified,  and  I  shuddered.  '  Wel- 
come !  Welcome  !'  cried  the  old  hag,  jumping  about  with  wild 
gestures;  *  there  comes  the  destroyer,  the  woman  murderer,  and 
brings  his  two  brides  with  him,  whom  he  will  murder  also.'  'How 
do  you  come  here  ?'  I  exclaimed.  The  porter  replied,  '  She  must 
have  climbed  down  the  other  side  of  the  cliffs,  which  form  the  ex- 
treme wall  of  the  small  garden,  and  must  have  concealed  herself 

S2 


250  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

among  the  shrubs  and  ruins.'  l  You  are  right,  you  are  right,' 
screamed  the  old  hag,  '  it  is  pleasant  to  live  there.'  Terrified  as 
we  were,  Ernestine  seemed  merry,  for  she  did  not  cease  laughing. 

"  During  the  days  on  which  we  celebrated  the  festival,  Ernestine 
did  not  appear ;  she  had  vanished ;  and  being  anxious  about  her, 
we  despatched  people  in  search  of  her,  when,  on  the  third  day,  she 
returned  on  foot,  merry  and  in  high  spirits.  She  told  us  she  had 
not  been  able  to  withstand  the  inclination  to  roam  about  in  the 
mountains,  as  she  always  had  had  a  desire  to  do  so.  '  But  thus 
alone,  without  informing  us  ?'  said  Elizabeth.  '  Alone !'  she  re- 
plied, '  No !  I  have  kept  constant  company  with  that  old  pro- 
phetess whom  you  so  unkindly  sent  away.  There  I  have  learnt 
many  things  quite  new,  that  I  never  even  read  of,  and  we  have  be- 
come very  good  friends.' 

"  We  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  I  formed  an  idea  without 
expressing  it,  that  Ernestine  was  mad.  So  awful  and  ominous  was 
her  return  to  our  residence,  such  sad  forebodings  crowded  in  our 
minds,  that,  in  spite  of  my  happiness,  I  felt  no  confidence  on  life, 
and  Elizabeth  could  not  regain  her  cheerfulness. 

"  In  other  respects  we  were  reconciled,  and  enjoyed  the  present 
moment,  and  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  woods  and  mountains. 
Our  few  guests,  as  well  as  the  aunt,  had  left  us,  and  we  might  have 
lived  contented  and  in  happy  union  in  this  delightful  solitude,  had 
I  not  observed  that  my  wife  avoided  her  sister  as  much  as  circum- 
stances permitted.  When  I  asked  her  the  reason  of  this,  she 
answered  after  some  hesitation :  '  Dearest,  I  am  terrified  at  Ernes- 
tine; she  has  become  quite  malicious,  though  formerly  she  had  not 
the  least  disposition  that  way.  Whenever  she  can  vex  me,  spoil 
any  thing,  or  even  expose  me  to  danger,  so  that  I  may  be  startled, 
stumble,  or  even  fall ;  or  if  any  stones  fall  in  my  way  she  shows  the 
most  malicious  joy,  as  she  did  when  she  lately  set  the  curtains  of  my 
bed  on  fire  by  bringing  the  candle  too  near  them.  She  has  told  me 
laughing,  that  the  country  people  talk  of  travellers  and  rangers 
having  seen  two  spectres  by  moonlight,  or  in  the  morning-dawn  in  the 
lonely  parts  of  the  forests,  whom  they  describe  as  terrible  hideous 
beings;  that  these  were  herself  and  the  old  gipsy,  and  that  she  only 
wished  that  the  circumstance  might  appear  in  print,  in  order  that  she, 
with  her  own  signature,  Ernestine  Fraulein  von  Jertz,  might  contra- 
dict the  story  of  ghosts,  and  state  that  she  was  one  of  the  imagined 
spirits.  Is  not  all  this  terrible  ?' 

"  '  Dear  child,'  said  I,  *  I  must  now  tell  you,  in  confidence,  that  I 
believe  she  is  mad.' 

"  '  Is  any  malice,  when  it  becomes  a  passion,  any  thing  but  mad- 
ness?' remarked  Elizabeth,  very  naturally. 

"  On  the  approach  of  autumn  we  left  the  Klausenburg  to  take  pos- 
session of  our  new  house,  for,  to  my  terror,  I  discovered  a  disposition 
to  melancholy  in  my  wife,  for  which  our  solitude  seemed  any  thing 
but  beneficial.  While  we  were  once  walking  through  the  ancient 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  251 

apartments  and  the  gothic  hall,  which  was  in  tolerable  preservation, 
and  our  footsteps  echoed  in  the  solitary  room,  my  wife  started  with  a 
sudden  shudder.  I  asked  the  reason. 

"  '  Oh  !  it  is  awful  here/  she  replied,  trembling  ;  1 1  feel  as  if 
invisible  spectres  haunted  this  place.'  I  was  terrified,  and  the 
thought  that  my  wife's  mind,  like  that  of  her  sister,  might  perhaps 
have  suffered,  stared  at  me  like  a  monster. 

"  When  residing  in  our  new  house,  we  often  missed  Ernestine,  and 
on  inquiry,  found  that  she  staid  in  the  Klausenburg  and  the  ruins  of 
the  old  castle.  Although  we  had  been  living  on  an  unpleasant 
footing,  still  my  wife,  as  well  as  myself,  could  not  help  wishing  her 
with  us  when  she  was  away.  But  how  different  was  my  life  from 
that  which  I  had  once  pictured  to  myself  when  I  courted  Elizabeth  ! 
"  Other  domestic  calamities  united  with  our  sufferings  to  increase 
our  grief.  That  document,  which  really  constituted  my  fortune  and 
supported  my  existence,  which  proved  that  large  sums  were  paid, 
and  some  still  owing  to  me,  as  well  as  all  the  deeds  and  papers 
which  had  been  produced  as  proofs  after  the  death  of  Count  Moritz, — 
all  these  important  papers  which  I  had  discovered  after  a  long 
troublesome  search,  and  had  in  my  hands  but  a  short  time  before, 
had  again  disappeared.  I  had  always  kept  them  carefully  locked  up, 
and  it  was  my  intention  to  travel  to  town  and  deliver  them  to  my 
solicitor  in  person,  as  on  them  the  recovery  of  my  estates  depended. 
They  were  gone ;  and  much  as  I  meditated  and  reflected,  I  could  not 
discover,  nor  even  find  a  trace  of  the  way  in  which  they  had  been 
purloined.  When  at  length  I  communicated  my  anxiety  to  my 
wife,  she  did  not  seem  surprised,  and  told  me  calmly,  '  Can  you  still 
doubt?  I  have  no  doubt  as  to  what  has  become  of  them.  Ernestine 
has  profited  by  some  moment  of  your  absence  when  you  might  have 
left  your  escrutoire  open,  or  some  other  forgetfulness,  to  take  the 
papers  away.' 

"  '  Not  possible !'  I  cried  with  horror.  *  Possible?'  she  repeated. 
'  What  is  impossible  to  her? ' 

"As  these  documents  were  wanting,  our  long  standing  law-suit  pro- 
ceeded but  slowly,  and  I  felt  sure  that  I  must  lose  it  whenever  it  was 
decided.  I  therefore  availed  myself  of  an  opportunity  which  the  court 
afforded  me,  by  proposing  to  quash  it,  that  I  might  defer  the  decision 
to  some  future  period.  Still  I  could  not  help  questioning  Ernestine 
and  informing  her  of  my  suspicions.  I  was  horrorstruck  at  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  heard  me  communicate  a  suspicion,  which  would 
have  shocked  any  innocent  mind.  When  I  had  overcome  my  embar- 
rassment and  had  concluded,  she  burst  out  in  such  laughter  that  I  lost 
all  composure.  Recovering  again,  I  urged  her  to  reply,  but  she  only 
said,  with  a  sarcastic  coldness,  '  My  dear  brother-in-law,  there  are  here 
only  two  cases  possible,  as  you  must  yourself  see,  notwithstanding 
your  short-sightedness,  namely,  that  I  am  either  guilty  or  innocent.  Is 
it  not  so  ?  If  I  have  committed  the  robbery,  I  must  have  been  in- 
duced by  weighty  reasons,  or  goaded  to  such  an  act  by  malice,  or 
something  else.  And  then  I  ought  to  say :  yes !  I  have  done  it, 


252  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

pray  do  not  take  it  amiss.  Now  you  must  confess  that  this  would 
be  more  than  stupid.  If  I  were  a  fool  I  might  have  done  it  without 
any  particular  intention, — may  be  to  light  the  kitchen  fire  with 
them ;  or  because  I  was  pleased  with  the  red  seals,  and  might  now  say : 
there,  take  these  pretty  papers  back,  considering  they  have  some 
value  for  the  dear  count.  But  a  fool  I  have  not  been  up  to  this  mo- 
ment; and  if  I  am  malicious,  I  am  of  course  not  silly  enough  to 
confess  the  deed.  Or  again,  assuming  the  second  case  that  I  am  in- 
nocent, then  you,  sir  brother-in-law  (pray  don't  contradict  me),  are 
the  simpleton  for  putting  such  unbecoming  questions  to  me.' 

"  I  could  not  answer  the  spectral  being.  When  I  saw  that  Eliza- 
beth no  longer  took  any  pleasure  in  playing  the  piano  that  I 
procured  from  abroad  in  our  retirement,  and  asked  the  reason  of  it, 
she  said,  sadly,  *  Dearest,  if  I  do  not  wish  to  incur  deadly  vexation, 
I  must  no  longer  play.'  '  How  so  ?'  '  Because  Ernestine  has 
flatly  forbidden  me.  She  says  that  in  a  house  where  there  lives 
such  an  accomplished  pianist  as  herself,  she  could  not  allow  any  one 
else  even  to  strike  a  note.5  This  presumption  was  too  much  for  my 
patience.  I  ran  to  her  chamber  and  asked  her  ironically  to  play  me 
something,  since  she  would  not  allow  any  one  else  to  touch  the  in- 
strument. She  followed  me,  laughing  loudly ;  and  truly  she  played 
in  such  a  masterly  style,  that  my  anger  was  turned  into  admiration 
and  rapture.  '  Well !'  she  said,  gravely,  when  she  had  finished, 
1  one  may  have  in  one's  own  house  all  enjoyments  for  which  con- 
noisseurs would  travel  fifty  miles,  and  yet  one  can  be  satisfied  with 
such  bungling  and  such  hammering  up  and  down  the  keys  with 
clumsy  fingers.  Oh  !  fools  and  idiots,  who,  rogues  as  they  are,  talk  of 
art  and  only  mean  vapour;  they  can  only  sip  the  nectar,  and  the  won- 
derful becomes  but  trash  in  their  rude  hands.  If  I  did  not  feel  a 
constant  disgust  for  life,  if  men  were  not  repulsive  to  me,  I  should 
never  cease  laughing.'  From  that  time  she  often  joined  in  our 
music,  at  most  permitting  Elizabeth  and  myself  to  sing,  though  she 
maintained  that  we  possessed  neither  school  nor  method.  Thus  the 
winter  passed  away.  I  was  already  poor,  and  with  the  prospect  of 
being  reduced  quite  to  beggary  ;  Elizabeth  was  sickly,  and  the  se- 
renity of  my  life  was  gone. 

"  It  was  almost  to  be  called  a  relief  to  our  existence,  when  on  the 
approach  of  spring,  Ernestine  became  ill,  and  was  shortly  so  much 
worse  that  she  could  not  leave  her  bed.  She  grew  more  irritable  as 
her  illness  increased,  and  nothing  vexed  her  more  than  that  she  could 
not  visit  the  Klausenburg,  of  which  she  had  become  so  fond.  One 
warm  day  I  sent  her  in  the  carriage,  she  searched  long  in  the  rooms, 
loitered  among  the  shrubs  and  rums,  and  returned  much  worse  than 
before.  It  was  now  evident  that  she  could  not  recover.  The  phy- 
sician said  that  he  could  not  understand  her  disease,  nor  the  state  of 
the  sufferer,  for  the  vital  powers  were  so  strong  in  her  that  all  the 
symptoms  usually  indicating  death  did  not  show  themselves,  and 
there  was  a  probability  of  her  speedy  recovery  ;  in  a  few  days,  how- 
ever, he  gave  up  all  hope. 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  253 

"  We  now  really  looked  forward  to  a  quieter  future.  Although  we 
felt  pity  for  the  unhappy  being,  yet  we  could  not  deny  that  she  had  a 
disturbing  effect  on  our  life  and  the  happiness  of  our  love.  We  heard 
that  she  was  near  death,  but  as  she  had  arranged  with  her  doctor 
and  nurse  that  we  should  not  disturb  her  we  had  kept  away.  All 
of  a  sudden  she  much  desired  to  see  me,  but  requested  that  Elizabeth 
should  not  be  present.  I  went  and  said  as  I  entered :  '  Dear  friend, 
you  will  doubtless  be  kind  enough  to  give  me  back  the  documents 
which  you  took  from  my  escrutoire  to  vex  me.'  She  looked  at  me 
significantly  with  her  dying  eyes,  which  now  seemed  larger  and 
sparkled  brighter  than  formerly.  There  was  something  so  singular, 
bright  and  glaring  in  her  look,  that  any  one  having  witnessed  it 
would  never  wish  to  see  any  thing  more  terrible  and  inconceivable. 
After  a  pause  she  said :  *  Brother,  do  these  foolish  trifles  still  occupy 
your  head  ?  Yet  it  is  no  wonder,  every  one  lives  as  he  can.  Sit 
down,  my  friend,'  she  continued,  with  an  air  of  contempt;  I  com- 
plied and  sat  down  by  her  bed. 

"  '  You  fancy,'  she  now  began  in  a  repulsive,  cutting  tone,  '  you 
will  get  rid  of  me  ;  but  do  not  deceive  yourself  by  flattering  your- 
self too  soon  with  such  an  idea.     Death,  life,  non-existence,  continua- 
tion !    what    useless,    unmeaning  words!      When   I   had  scarcely 
passed  my  childhood,  I  could  not  help  laughing  at  men,  if  I  saw 
them    fretting    about    continued    existence    after    death.      They 
drag    in  and  heap  up  like  towers,  proof  after  proof,  probabilities 
and  wishes,  entreaties,  prayers,  and  the  mercy  of  the  Almighty  ;  they 
talk  of  many  fine  talents  which  cannot  on  this  side  of  the  grave,  as 
they  call  it,  be  possibly  perfected,  much  less  brought  to  maturity, — 
and  all  these  preparations  are  but  to  hush  their  base  cowardice  and 
fear  of  death.     Poor  wretches !  If  I  collect  myself,  become  conscious 
of  my  various  energies  in  every  direction,  and  then  call  to  eternity, 
to  the  Creator  and  the  millions  of  spirits  of  the  past  and  the  future, 
I  will  be  immortal  !  I  will! — what  more  is  necessary,  and  what  om- 
nipotence can  interfere  to  destroy  my  eternal,  almighty  will  ?    What 
further  security  of  being  immortal  and  eternal  does  the  man  want 
who  has  any  consciousness  ?  How,  and  in  what  manner,  that  is  ano- 
ther question.     What  farce  we  shall  then  play,  what  mask,  what 
party-coloured  wig,  what  gibbous  labyrinth  of  entrails  we  shall  then 
possess,  what  etiquette  and  court  taste  of  ugliness  and  beauty  will 
then  be  introduced,  is  uncertain.     But,  my  good  friends,  as  my  own 
power,  without  any  thing  more,  preserves  me  immortal,  the  same 
energy  and  free-will  may  bring  me  back  to  you  whenever  and  as  often 
as  I  like.     Believe  me,  ye  fools,  the  spectres,  as  you  call  them,  are 
not  exactly  the  worst  or  weakest  spirits.     Many  a  one  would  fain  re- 
turn, but  he  has  as  little  individual  character  there  as  here,  and  hence 
the  impossibility  of  doing  so.     And  to  you, — you  paragon,  rogue, 
vain,  amiable  character,  full  of  talents,  you  bud  of  virtue,  you  bar- 
terer  of  beauty,  whom  I  was  compelled  to  love  so  intensely,  yea, 
compelled  despite  of  my  inmost  soul,  which  told  me  that  you  did  not 


254  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

deserve  it, — to  you,  smooth  skinned,  straight  grown,  human  animal, 
I  shall  ever  be  quite  near,  believe  me.  For  this  love  and  jealousy, 
this  rage  after  you  and  your  breathing,  and  conversation,  will  urge 
me  to  the  earth,  and  this  will  be,  as  the  pious  would  say,  my  purga- 
tory. Therefore,  no  leave-taking ;  we  shall  meet  again  !'*  Thus  say- 
ing she  offered  me  her  cold,  dead  hand. 

"  When  life  was  extinct  I  returned  to  Elizabeth,  but  took  care  not 
to  communicate  any  thing  of  the  frantio  ravings  of  the  deceased,  as 
her  nerves  were  already  excited  by  great  anxiety,  and  she  often 
suffered  from  spasms. 

"  We  now  lived  in  still  retirement  in  a  rural  solitude  which,  in 
spite  of  our  reduced  finances,  might  have  become  delightful  had  I 
not  remarked  that  the  morbid  and  melancholy  mood  of  Elizabeth 
was  on  the  increase.  She  became  pale  and  wasted,  and  I  often  found 
her  weeping  when  entering  her  chamber  unexpectedly.  When  I 
asked  her  the  reason  of  this,  she  told  me  she  knew  not  herself  what 
was  the  matter  with  her,  that  she  always  felt  sorrowful  without  being 
able  to  say  why ;  that  when  she  was  alone  she  felt  quite  awed,  it 
seemed  so  terrible  to  her  that  her  sister  had  been  obliged  to  end  her 
existence  in  such  a  frantic  passion,  and  that  often  when  entering  or 
sitting  alone  in  her  chamber  it  was  as  if  Ernestine  stood  near  her ; 
she  fancied  she  heard  her  singing,  felt  her  breath,  and  her  looks  ap- 
peared to  force  themselves  through  the  empty  air. 

"  I  quieted  her,  left  her  rarely  by  herself,  read  to  her,  we  took  walks 
together,  and  sometimes  paid  visits  to  our  acquaintance  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. As  she  became  calmer  she  recovered  by  degrees  her  na- 
turally beautiful  complexion.  Feeling  once  unwell  and  lying  com- 
fortably stretched  out  on  the  sofa,  while  she  was  reading  an  interesting 
story  to  me,  I  said,  how  beautiful  and  melodious  is  your  voice ;  will 
you  not  sing  again  for  once?  For  a  long  time  you  have  not  opened 
your  music  books,  your  instrument  is  locked,  and  your  beautiful  fin- 
gers will  at  length  become  quite  stiff. 

"  '  You  know,1  she  replied,  *  that  a  few  months  ago  my  sister  flatly 
forbade  me  to  practise  music ;  we  were  obliged  to  concede  to  her  ill 
health  and  thus  I  have  become  quite  out  of  practice.' 

"  '  Sing  now,'  I  cried,  '  the  delight  will  be  the  greater  to  me  for 
its  novelty.' 

"  We  looked  out  a  cheerful,  pleasing  piece  of  music,  to  avoid  any 
thing  melancholy,  and  Elizabeth  poured  forth,  with  a  truly  heavenly 
voice,  the  clear  light  tones,  which  thrilled  bliss  into  my  heart.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped,  and  was  again  seized  with  that  violent  hysteric 
fit  of  weeping  which  had  so  often  terrified  me.  *  I  cannot,'  she 


anger 
well  as  hers  was  destroyed. 


*  It  is  not  impossible  that  this  extraordinary  speech  may  be  intended  for  an  ex- 
position of  the  doctrine  of  Fichte.— J.  0. 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  255 

"  Our  physician,  a  very  judicious  man,  and  a  friend  of  ours,  when 
she  confessed  all  these  feelings,  her  trembling,  and  the  anxiety  which 
almost  incessantly  preyed  on  her  and  undermined  her  health,  applied 
every  remedy  to  calm  her,  physically  and  mentally.  This  honest  and 
judicious  persuasion  had  a  good  effect,  and  his  medicines  proved 
salutary.  When  summer  came  we  were  much  in  the  open  air.  We 
were  once  taking  a  drive  to  the  estate  of  an  acquaintance  who  told 
us  that  he  intended  to  give  a  musical  festival,  composed  of  friends 
and  some  virtuosi.  My  wife's  great  talent  for  music  being  known, 
we  were  invited,  and  she  promised  to  play  and  sing;  being  then 
surrounded  by  strangers,  flattered  by  both  sexes  and  in  a  cheerful 
mood.  I  was  the  more  rejoiced  at  this  as  our  physician  made  it  a 
part  of  his  advice  that  she  should  forcibly  combat  these  gloomy  feel- 
ings and  this  hypochondriacal  anxiety.  She  determined  to  follow  his 
advice.  Very  pleased  and  rejoiced,  we  returned  to  our  humble  re- 
sidence. Elizabeth  with  spirit  went  through  the  difficult  pieces  of 
music,  and  the  idea  that  she  might  in  this  way,  perhaps,  recover  her 
youthful  vigour  delighted  me. 

"  A  few  days  after  this,  while  I  was  reading  a  letter,  that  had  just  ar- 
rived, the  door  was  suddenly  burst  open,  and  Elizabeth  rushed  in, 
deadly  pale,  and  fell  as  if  dead  in  my  arms.  '  What  is  the  matter?'  I 
cried,  seized  with  horror.  Her  eye  wandered  wildly  round,  her  heart 
palpitated  almost  to  bursting,  and  she  was  some  time  before  she 
regained  her  voice  and  breath. 

" '  Oh !  heavens,'  she  at  length  exclaimed,  every  word  being  expres- 
sive of  horror,  'in  there,  while  I  practised — in  a  cheerful  mood — I 
accidently  cast  a  look  in  the  glass — and  I  saw  behind  me  Ernestine 
looking  at  me  with  that  strange  smile,  and  having  her  withered  arms 
folded  across  her  chest.  I  know  not  whether  she  is  still  there,  I 
hardly  know  how  I  reached  here.' 

"  I  gave  her  in  charge  of  her  maid;  she  retired,  and  the  doctor  was 
immediately  sent  for.  I  went  into  the  other  room,  and  found 
the  music  books  scattered  under  the  instrument.  Elizabeth  must 
have  thrown  them  down  in  her  fright. 

"  'Of  what  avail  are  reasoning,  joke,  and  consolation,  diet  and 
medicines  against  perfect  madness,'  said  I  to  myself,  and  yet  I  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  words  with  which  her  dying  sister  had 
threatened  us. 

"  The  news  of  my  wife  having  been  taken  ill  reached  our  friend's 
ears,  and  was  likely  to  prevent  the  musical  festival  taking  place. 
His  wife  came  a  few  days  afterwards  with  a  female  singer  to  in- 
quire after  Elizabeth's  health.  Not  having  said  any  thing,  even  to 
the  doctor,  of  the  apparition  which  my  wife  imagined  she  had  seen, 
we  of  course  did  not  mention  this  singular  circumstance  to  our 
visiters.  To  all  appearances  my  wife  having  quite  recovered  from 
her  fright,  we  walked  in  our  small  garden  with  our  friends  conversing 
about  the  festival,  and  the  baroness  and  the  singer  at  length  pro- 
posed to  practise  some  music  in  my  wife's  presence,  that  they  might 
nave  her  opinion,  though  she  might  not  perhaps  be  able  to  join. 


256  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

"  We  therefore  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  as  it  became  dark, 
candles  were  lighted.  The  singer  sat  at  the  instrument  to  accompany 
herself,  on  her  right  was  the  baroness,  I  was  just  behind,  and  my  wife 
was  on  her  left.  We  could  not  help  admiring  the  voices  and  the  style 
of  the  singers.  The  music  by  degrees  became  more  animated  and 
impassioned,  and  I  had  once  already  omitted  turning  the  page,  when, 
just  as  the  next  leaf  was  played,  a  long  bony  finger  appeared  on  it, 
quickly  turned  the  leaf  at  the  right  time,  and  the  melody  proceeded. 
I  looked  round  and  beheld  the  terrible  Ernestine  standing  close  by 
me  behind  the  baroness  ;  I  know  not  how  I  kept  my  composure,  but 
I  looked  searchingly  and  almost  unmoved  at  the  terrific  apparition. 
She  smiled  at  me  with  that  malicious  expression  which,  even  when 
living,  made  her  countenance  repelling.  She  wore  her  usual  dress, 
her  eyes  were  fiery,  and  her  face  was  white  as  chalk.  I  felt  almost  a  sa- 
tisfaction in  the  gloomy  sensation  of  awe,  remained  silent,  and  was  glad 
that  Elizabeth  did  not  perceive  the  spirit.  Suddenly  there  was  a  shriek 
of  terror,  and  my  wife  fell  fainting  on  the  ground,  while  the  withered 
finger  was  just  going  again  to  turn  the  page.  The  music  of  course 
ended,  my  wife  was  in  a  fever,  and  our  friends  who  had  not  seen 
the  spectre  returned  home." 

Here  the  invalid  paused.  The  physician  looked  significantly  at 
me,  shaking  his  head. 

"  And  you  have,"  he  at  length  said,  "  never  before  told  your  present 
doctor  any  thing  of  that  apparition." 

"  No,"  replied  Francis,  "  you  may  call  it  shame,  or  fear  of  his  cold, 
searching  understanding ;  you  may  call  it  weakness  or  what  you  please ; 
suffice  it  to  say  I  could  not  prevail  on  myself  to  make  this  confession." 

"  But  it  was  very  necessary,"  said  the  physician,  "  for  how  could 
he  judge  correctly  of  your  illness  without  that  information?" 

"  From  that  time,"  resumed  Francis  in  a  faint  voice,  "  we  deter- 
mined to  quit  the  neighbourhood  in  hopes  that  the  furious  spectre 
would  not  follow  us  beyond  the  mountains.  But  while  we  continued 
in  our  house  we  often  saw  her,  mostly  in  the  music-room.  Our 
doctor  being  with  us  one  morning,  he  sat  down  to  the  instrument 
and  played  some  passages  extempore.  Suddenly  the  terrible  spectre 
again  stood  by  my  wife's  chair,  and  laid  her  cold  withered  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  Hysterics  and  faintings  again  followed." 

"  And  did  your  doctor  see  it  also  ?" 

"No,"  said  Francis,  "she  appeared  behind  him,  but  I  saw 
her  distinctly  then,  as  I  often  did  afterwards  by  broad  day- 
light. We  had  only  to  touch  the  keys  of  the  instrument 
when  she  immediately  appeared,  so  that  to  strike  a  note  was  a 
summons.  When  I  once  revisited  the  ancient  Klausenburg,  I 
found  her  sitting  upon  a  stone  staring  at  me.  Thus  persecuted, 
terrified,  and  in  constant  fear  and  anxiety,  we  have  become  ripe  for 
death,  and  the  physician  despairing  of  our  recovery  advised  us  at 
last  to  visit  this  watering-place,  as  a  last  resource  for  restoring  our 
shattered  health.  But  hitherto  we  have  not  found  any  beneficial 
result.  And  who  can  assure  us  that  the  spectre  may  not  here  haunt 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  257 

us  also.  She  intends  to  destroy  us,  and  tlie  most  inconceivable 
things  are  possible  to  her  strong  will.  I  believe  we  need  only  sing 
an  air,  or  play  a  sonata  even  at  this  distance,  and  she  would  make 
her  appearance." 

"  I  will  answer  for  that,  count,"  cried  the  doctor  in  a  firm  voice, 
"  our  faculty  knows  how  to  keep  such  malicious  spirits  at  a  distance." 

Here  our  conversation  ended ;  we  sent  the  patient  home  in  a  sedan 
chair  to  his  hotel,  and  I  accompanied  the  physician. 

While  walking  in  the  quiet  of  night  through  the  dark  avenues  of 
trees,  he  said  to  me,  "  Dear  sir,  we  are  too  much  excited  to  sleep, 
favour  me  with  your  company  to  my  lodging;  a  powerful  aromatic 
cardinal*  will  keep  up  our  spirits,  and  I  will  there  tell  you  my  opinion 
respecting  our  two  invalids,  of  whose  recovery,  after  what  I  have 
heard,  I  no  longer  doubt.  I  would  almost  promise  that  in  two 
months  I  shall  send  them  home  in  tolerably  good  health." 

I  was  astonished  at  this,  as  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  the  reco- 
very of  my  friends.  Our  strongly-spiced  beverage  much  enlivened 
us;  and  the  doctor  continued:  "  The  mental  disease  of  your  friend 
is  to  me  one  of  the  most  interesting  psychological  phenomena  that 
has  ever  passed  under  my  observation.  He,  as  well  as  his  wife,  are 
labouring  under  a  singular  madness;  and  if  we  once  succeed  in 
attacking  it  rightly,  then,  in  weakening,  and  finally  in  eradicating 
it  altogether,  the  physical  recovery  will  follow  of  itself.  Though  I 
did  not  know  your  friend  formerly,  yet,  from  his  communications, 
I  can  exactly  and  truly  construe  his  character  and  fate.  He  is  natu- 
rally good  and  tender,  the  latter  rather  preponderating;  and,  like 
most  men  of  this  disposition,  is  more  subject  to  vanity  than  those  of 
firmer  character.  He  has  been  handsome  and  amiable,  possessed  of 
talents,  and  persuasive  manners,  and  has,  therefore,  been  everywhere 
well  received,  so  that,  being  a  general  favourite,  and  naturally 
pliant,  he  may  have  turned  the  head  of  many  a  pretty  girl.  Meet- 
ing, at  last,  with  his  beautiful  wife,  he  determined  to  change  his 
condition,  and  her  naturally  sensitive  and  nervous  nature  was  de- 
lighted to  call  so  amiable  a  gentleman  her  husband.  And,  as  usually 
happens  to  enthusiasts,  so  is  it  in  this  case;  they  do  not  find  in  ma- 
trimony that  transcendant  felicity  which  they  anticipated ;  a  slight 
discord  takes  possession  of  the  tender  cords  of  the  nerves,  which  im- 
patiently look  forward  to  new  vibrations.  The  ugly,  deformed  sister 
felt,  like  most  persons  of  the  sort,  jealousy  and  envy  against  the 
preferred,  flattered,  and  fondled  wife.  She  plainly  showed  her  in- 
dignation, and  confessed  that  she  hated  the  count.  This  amiable 
conqueror  of  hearts  now  employed  all  his  art  to  overcome  this 
hatred.  He  succeeded,  and  the  poor  deluded  creature  even  fancied 
that  she  had  excited  his  affection,  while  his  vanity  exulted  in  the 
triumph.  This  heartlessness  could  not  but  mortify  and  shock  the 


*  A  beverage  usually  prepared  of  wine,  brandy,  sugar,  and  pine-apples,  or  other 
fruit. 


258  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

unfortunate  Ernestine.  An  inward  rage  consumed  her,  she  fell  a 
victim  to  her  unfortunate  passion;  and,  dying,  she  uttered  the 
menace  to  persecute  them  in  every  possible  way.  This  is  plainly 
madness.  This  madness,  as  has  often  been  observed,  is  hereditary, 
and  relations,  brothers,  sisters,  and  children,  are  seized  with  it  when- 
ever it  is  manifested  in  a  member  of  the  family.  So  in  the  case  of 
your  friend.  Perhaps  the  affectionate  count  has  not  been  quite  silent 
on  the  subject  to  his  wife;  and  she,  being  already  in  a  delicate  state, 
has  indulged  these  fancies,  and  with  anxious  curiosity  pursues  the 
gloomy  feelings  produced  by  her  nerves.  Thus,  what  is  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  soon  find  an  occasion  on  which  she  fancied  she 
really  saw  her  sister?  The  fears  of  his  wife  were  communicated  to 
him,  anguish  of  mind  at  his  misfortunes  heated  his  imagination,  and 
he  also  sees  the  apparition.  Thus  they  go  on,  until  both  have  nearly 
destroyed  themselves  by  a  mere  phantom.  If  we  can  dissipate  this 
phantom,  they  may  be  restored  to  health." 

"  Dear  doctor,"  I  replied,  "  I  know  not  whether  I  have  a  par- 
ticular propensity  for  superstition,  but  your  reasons  do  not  satisfy 
me.  Much  that  has  been  handed  down,  both  by  tradition  and 
writing,  on  this  curious  subject,  cannot  be  mere  fancy  or  invention, 
however  much  our  reason  may  be  opposed  to  it.  There  are,  no 
doubt,  states  of  the  mind  and  of  the  nerves,  as  well  as  diseases, 
during  which  certain  persons  see  what  is  veiled  from  all  others. 
What  is  spirit?  What  notions  does  this  word  suggest?  Do  we 
know  the  nature,  talent,  or  power,  which  these  millions  of  differently 
constituted  souls  possess,  after  having  shaken  off  their  earthly  frame  ? 
Do  we  know  by  what  possibility  this  or  that  strong  mind,  by  the 
power  of  his  will,  or  anxious  repentance,  or  a  secret  tormenting 
yearning  after  home,  forms  from  his  imagination  a  visible  frame, 
such  as  he  used  to  wear?" 

"  And  supposing  you  to  be  quite  right,  what  would  you  profit  by 
it?"  exclaimed  the  zealous  doctor.  "  If  any  one  who  is  in  a  discon- 
tented mood,  or  state  of  excitement,  sees  any  thing,  it  is,  indeed, 
only  and  always  his  own  fancies,  his  own  internal  phases,  which 
appear  before  his  bodily  eye.  This  may  happen  to  any  one  at 
times.  We  have  in  the  morning  a  vivid  dream;  we  certainly 
awake,  and  still,  for  a  moment,  we  see  the  child  for  whom  we 
yearned,  the  lily  or  rose  which  delighted  us,  or  an  old  friend  who  is 
a  hundred  miles  distant.  Perhaps  it  never  yet  happened  that,  to 
one  of  the  many  ghost- seers,  his  aged  father  or  grandfather  appeared 
as  a  youth  or  bridegroom,  the  murderer  as  a  boy  in  his  innocence, 
the  wild  spectre  of  an  aged  prisoner  as  a  blooming  virgin.  Why, 
then,  do  not  these  spectres,  for  once,  change  their  shape?" 

"  Because,"  rejoined  I,  "  they  perhaps  can  express  their  imagi- 
nation only  in  the  last  state  immediately  preceding  their  change." 

**Ah  !  this  is  idle/'  exclaimed  the  doctor,  impatiently;  "  yield  the 
point  quietly  rather  than  vainly  endeavour  to  refute  me.  Assist 
me  rather  in  restoring  your  friend." 


THE  KLAUSENBURG.  259 

e '  In  what  way  can  I  do  so  ?" 

"It  is  only  by  some  violent  means  that  a  happy  beginning  can 
be  made.  Believe  me,  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  our  minds  there  are 
still  growing  some  weeds  of  vanity,  concerning  which  we  fondly 
deceive  ourselves,  by  fancying  that  the  external  surface  is  the 
proper  soil  for  them  to  luxuriate  in.  Even  in  moments  of 
terror,  in  the  horror  of  death,  or  during  tormenting  disease,  we  are 
tickled  by  the  consciousness  that,  notwithstanding  these,  we  ex- 
perience something  apart — that  we  see  apparitions  which  awaken 
anxiety.  Nay,  we  go  further;  we  wish  them  back  again,  and  as  it 
were  call  them  forth ;  our  plastic  and  pliant  nature,  and  our  almost 
inconceivable  fancy  obey,  and  again  such  a  bugbear  is  conjured  up. 
Assist  me  then  in  persuading  and  disposing  our  invalid  to  have 
music  in  the  count's  or  your  own  apartments ;  let  us  procure  an  instru- 
ment, and  as  the  countess  cannot  sing,  she  will  at  least  play.  That 
they  may  not  cause  an  excitement,  should  they  again  be  seized  by 
this  mania,  no  one  but  yourself  and  I  must  be  present,  or  at  most 
her  attendant  in  case  of  a  relapse.  But  it  will  not  happen  in  my  pre- 
sence, as  I  shall  have  my  quick  eyes  everywhere.  By  these  means 
our  patients  will  gain  confidence  and  tranquillity,  and  by  a  daily  re- 
petition, and  the  use  of  stronger  remedies  we  shall  cure  their  wild 
/>  •  j, 
iancies. 

"  And  if  not?"  I  replied,  with  anxious  doubt. 

"  Well  then,  by  heavens !"  he  replied,  with  a  loud  laugh,  "  if  I, 
without  having  previously  taken  too  much,  see  any  thing,  then — " 

"Then?" 

"  Then,  baron,  you  shall  call  me  a  fool,  which,  viewed  in  the  proper 
light,  we  are  all  by  nature." 

Thus  we  parted,  and  it  required  much  persuasion  to  prevail  upon 
my  afflicted  friend  to  consent  to  our  experiment.  His  wife,  to  my 
astonishment  was  more  easily  persuaded.  She  said,  not  without 
reason,  "  I  feel  it,  my  life  is  drawing  to  a  close,  all  help  is  vain,  the 
nearer  death  is,  the  better.  So  much  the  better  if  a  new  terror  can  crush 
me  like  a  stroke  of  lightning.  And  if  the  event  which  I  antici- 
pate does  not  take  place,  then  my  last  days  will  at  least  be  free  from, 
this  fear  and  anxious  horror ;  I  shall  be  able  to  amuse  and  divert  my- 
self, and  it  remains  in  the  hand  of  Omnipotence  whether  I  and  my 
husband  shall  have  further  hope  of  recovery." 

The  third  day  was  fixed  upon  for  music,  and  a  late  hour  in  the 
evening  was  appointed,  because  the  countess,  like  most  persons  suf- 
fering from  fever  felt  it  strongest  at  that  time,  and  would  thereby 
shorten  the  night,  as  she  seldom  slept  till  morning.  An  instrument 
had  been  placed  in  the  room ;  more  lights  than  were  required  were 
burning,  and  the  adjoining  chamber  likewise  was  brilliantly  lighted, 
in  order  that  no  doubtful  shadow  might  be  produced  in  the  dark. 
Besides  the  easy  chair  and  sofa  in  the  sitting-room,  there  was  a  couch, 
on  which  the  countess  reposed  in  the  day.  The  piano  was  placed 
against  the  wall,  between  two  windows,  looking  over  the  garden 


260  THE  KLAUSENBURG. 

and  some  vineyards  beyond.  After  tea,  the  door  being  locked,  the 
waiter  and  servant  were  dismissed;  no  one  remained  but  the  coun- 
tess's attendant,  a  strong  young  woman,  whom  we  begged  to  keep 
up  her  spirits. 

The  countess  took  her  seat  at  the  instrument.  The  doctor  stood 
beside  her,  in  order  to  observe  her,  as  well  as  to  overlook  both  rooms, 
while  I  sat  and  stood  alternately  on  the  other  side.  Francis,  in  his 
morning-gown  and  slippers,  walked  slowly  up  and  down  behind  us, 
and  the  attendant  leaned  against  the  open  chamber-door. 

At  first  the  countess  played  faintly,  uncertainly,  and  timidly.  But 
by  degrees  the  beauty  of  the  composition,  and  the  consciousness  of 
her  talent  inspired  her,  and  she  played  with  precision  and  fire  a 
humorous  and  melodious  fantasia.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  and  a  smile,  full  of  soul,  played  upon  her  once  beautiful 
mouth.  The  doctor  cast  a  triumphant  glance  at  me,  and  by  the 
strong  light,  the  mien  and  feature  of  every  one  in  the  room  were 
distinctly  visible.  All  praised  the  performer,  and  the  doctor  gave 
her  something  to  revive  her.  She  was  as  if  inspired  with  new  life, 
and  confessed  that  she  had  not  felt  so  well  for  the  last  year.  Poor 
Francis  was  in  raptures,  and  his  tearful  eyes  were  full  of  hope. 

With  the  same  arrangement  we  proceeded  to  the  second  piece, 
while  she  played  still  more  confidently,  and  with  less  exertion. 
Bravos  and  applause  accompanied  her — when  suddenly — a  terrible 
shriek  was  heard — how  shall  I  describe  it?  Never  were  my  ears 
rent  by  such  terrific  sounds — it  was  some  time  after  that  I  perceived 
that  Francis  had  uttered  it — the  candles  burned  with  a  blue  flame, 
but  yet  there  was  light  enough. — And  what  a  spectacle ! — Francis, 
with  foaming  mouth,  and  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets,  was 
clasping  a  horrible  spectre ;  and  wrestled  with  the  withered  hideous 
form.  "  You  or  I,"  he  now  cried,  and  it  clasped  him  with  its  bony 
arms  so  firmly,  pressed  its  crooked  deformed  body  so  strongly  against 
his,  and  its  pale  face  so  firmly  against  his  chest,  that  we  all  heard 
how  in  this  struggle  his  bones  were  crashing.  The  attendant  had 
hastened  to  assist  the  countess,  who  had  fainted.  The  doctor  and 
myself  approached  the  count,  just  as  he  threw  the  spectre  with  gi- 
gantic force  on  the  couch,  which  creaked  under  her.  He  stood 
erect.  It  lay  on  the  couch  like  a  cloud,  like  a  dark  cover,  and  as 
we  approached,  it  was  gone. 

Francis  now  felt  all  his  bones  broken,  his  last  strength  was  an- 
nihilated. In  three  days  he  was  no  more,  and  the  physician  found 
his  body  much  bruised.  The  countess  never  recovered  from  her 
state  of  delirium,  and  two  days  afterwards  she  followed  her  beloved 
and  unfortunate  husband  to  his  early  grave. 

C.A.F. 


261 


THE  MOON. 

BY  JEAN  PAUL  FRIEDRICH  EICHTEK. 

WHEN,  Oh  Eugenius  and  Rosamond, — yon,  whom  I  may  no 
longer  designate  by  your  right  names, — I  was  first  about  to  tell  your 
short  history,  my  friends  and  I  walked  into  an  English  garden.*  We 
went  by  a  new-painted  coffin,  on  the  foot-board  of  which  was  written  : 
"I  pass  away."  Above  the  verdant  garden  rose  a  white  obelisk, 
with  which  two  sister-princesses  had  marked  the  spot  where  they 
now  met  and  embraced,  and  the  inscription  on  which  was  :  "  Here 
we  have  found  each  other  again."  The  point  of  the  obelisk 
was  glittering  in  the  full  moon,  and  here  I  told  my  simple  story. 
But  do  thou,  gentle  reader,  draw — which  is  as  much  as  coffin  and 
obelisk — draw,  I  say,  the  inscription  on  the  coffin  into  the  ashes  of 
oblivion,  and  write  the  letters  of  the  obelisk  with  pure  human  heart's 
blood  in  thy  inmost  self. 

Many  souls  drop  from  heaven  like  flowers ;  but,  with  their  white 
buds,  they  are  trodden  down  into  the  mud,  and  lie  soiled  and  crushed 
in  the  print  of  a  hoof.  You  also  were  crushed,  Eugenius  and  Rosa- 
mond. Tender  souls  like  yours  are  attacked  by  three  robbers  of 
their  joys — the  mob,  whose  rough  gripe  gives  to  such  soft  hearts  no- 
thing but  scars;  destiny,  which  does  not  wipe  away  the  tear  from  a 
fair  soul  full  of  brilliancy,  but  the  lustre  should  perish  also,  as  we  do 
not  wipe  a  wet  diamond,  lest  it  should  grow  dim ;  your  own  hearts 
which  rejoice  too  much,  and  enjoy  too  little,  have  too  much  hope, 
and  too  little  power  of  endurance.  Rosamond  was  a  bright  pearl, 
pierced  by  anguish — parted  from  all  that  belonged  to  her,  she  only 
quivered  in  her  sorrows  like  a  detached  twig  of  the  sensitive  plant 
at  the  approach  of  night — her  life  was  a  quiet  warm  rain  and  that  of 
her  husband  was  a  bright  lost  sunshine.  In  his  presence  she  averted 
her  eyes,  when  they  had  just  been  fixed  on  her  sick  child,  that  was 
only  two  years  old,  and  was  in  this  life  a  wavering  thin-winged  but- 
terfly, beneath  a  pelting  shower.  The  imagination  of  Eugenius, 
with  its  too  large  wings  shattered  his  slight,  delicate  frame ;  the  lily 
bell  of  his  tender  body  could  not  contain  his  mighty  soul ;  the  place 
whence  sighs  originate,  his  breast,  was  destroyed  like  his  happiness. 
He  had  nothing  left  in  the  world  but  his  affectionate  heart,  and  for 
that  heart  there  were  but  two  human  beings. 

These  persons  wished,  in  the  spring-time,  to  quit  the  whirlpool  of 
mankind,  which  beat  so  hardly  and  so  coldly  against  their  hearts. 

*  Or,  perhaps,  "  angelic  garden,"  meaning  a  church-yard.  The  reading  given 
above  is  most  probably  correct. 


262  THE  MOON. 

They  had  a  quiet  cottage  prepared  for  them  on  one  of  the  high 
Alps  opposite  to  the  silver  chain  of  the  Staiibbach.  On  the  first 
fine  spring  morning  they  went  the  long  road  to  the  high  mountain. 
There  is  a  holiness  which  sorrow  alone  can  give  in  its  purity ;  the 
stream  of  life  becomes  white  as  snow  when  it  is  dashed  against  rocks. 
There  is  an  elevation  where  little  thoughts  no  more  intrude  between 
sublime  ones,  as  when  upon  a  mountain  one  sees  the  summits  close 
to  each  other  without  their  connection  in  the  depth  below.  Thou 
hadst  that  holiness,  Rosamond,  and  thou  that  elevation,  Eugenius. 

A  morning  mist  was  gathered  round  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
and  in  that  three  fluttering  forms  were  suspended.  These  were  the 
reflections  of  the  three  travellers,  and  the  timid  Rosamond  started, 
thinking  she  saw  herself.  Eugenius  thought,  "  That  which  the  im- 
mortal spirit  hath  around  it  is,  after  all,  but  a  denser  mist."  And 
the  child  snatched  at  the  cloud,  and  wished  to  play  with  its  little 
misty  brother.  One  single  invisible  an^el  of  the  future  accompanied 
them  through  life  and  up  this  mountain.  They  were  so  good  and 
like  each  other  that  one  angel  was  all  they  needed. 

As  they  ascended  the  angel  opened  the  book  of  fate,  one  leaf  of 
which  contained  the  sketch  of  a  three-fold  life — every  line  was  a 
day — and  when  the  angel  had  read  the  line  that  belonged  to  this 
day,  he  wept  and  closed  the  book  for  ever. 

The  travellers,  in  their  delicate  condition,  required  nearly  a  day 
to  arrive  at  the  desired  spot.  The  earth  crept  back  into  the  valleys, 
the  sky  rested  itself  on  the  mountains.  The  waving,  glimmering  sun 
seemed  to  our  Eugenius  a  mirror  of  the  moon,  and  he  said  to  his  be- 
loved, when  the  icy  summits  had  already  cast  their  flames  upon  the 
earth:  "I  feel  so  weary,  and  yet  so  well.  Will  it  not  be  as  if  we 
left  two  dreams — the  dream  of  life  and  the  dream  of  death — if  we 
enter  the  cloudless  moon  as  the  first  shore  beyond  the  hurricanes  of 
life?" 

"  It  will  be  still  better,"  replied  Rosamond,  "  for  in  the  moon,  as 
thou  hast  taught  me,  dwell  the  little  children  of  this  earth,  and  their 
parents  remain  with  them  till  they  themselves  become  as  mild  and 
tranquil  as  children."  Then  they  proceed  further. 

"Ay,  from  heaven  to  heaven — from  world  to  world!"  said  Eu- 
genius, ecstatically. 

They  ascended  as  the  sun  declined;  when  they  climbed  more 
slowly,  the  mountain  summits  like  rising,  loosened  branches,  concealed 
them  from  the  luminary.  They  hastened  on  into  the  evening  glim- 
mer, which  was  already  advancing,  but  when  they  had  reached  the 
mountain  where  their  cottage  stood,  the  eternal  mountains  stepped 
before  the  sun; — the  earth  then  veiled  her  graces  and  her  cities,  ador- 
ing heaven,  before  it  looked  upon  her  with  all  its  star-eyes,  while 
the  waterfalls  laid  aside  their  rainbows, — and  the  earth  spread  higher 
for  heaven,  which  was  bending  over  her  with  out-stretched  cloud- 
arms,  a  gauze  of  golden  exhalations,  and  hung  it  from  one  mountain 
to  another,  and  the  icebergs  were  set  on  fire,  so  that  they  glared 


THE  MOON.  263 

even  to  midnight,  while  opposite  to  them  on  the  grave  of  the  sun 
was  raised  a  towering  funeral  pile  of  clouds,  forming  the  evening 
glow  and  the  evening  ashes.  But  through  the  glimmering  veil  kind 
heaven  let  its  evening  tears  fall  deep  into  the  earth,  even  upon  the 
humblest  grass  and  the  smallest  flower. 

Oh,  Eugenius,  how  great  then  did  thy  soul  become !  The  life  of 
earth  lay  at  a  distance  and  far  below  thee,  free  from  all  the  distor- 
tions which  we  see  in  it,  because  we  stand  too  near  it,  as  the  deco- 
rations of  shorter  scenes  change  from  landscapes  to  mis-shapen  strokes 
when  we  look  at  them  closely. 

The  two  living  ones  embraced  each  other  with  a  long  and  gentle 
embrace,  as  they  stood  before  the  cottage,  and  Eugenius  said :  "  Oh, 
thou  quiet,  eternal  heaven,  take  nothing  more  from  us !"  But  his 
pale  child  with  its  snapped  lily-head  was  before  him;  he  looked  at 
the  mother,  and  she  lay  with  her  moistened  eye  reaching  into  heaven, 
and  said  softly:  "  O  take  us  all  at  once !" 

The  angel  of  futurity,  whom  I  will  call  the  angel  of  rest,  wept  as 
he  smiled,  and  his  wings  swept  away  the  sighs  of  the  parents  with 
an  evening  breeze,  that  they  might  not  sadden  each  other. 

The  transparent  evening  flowed  round  the  red  mountain  like  a 
bright  lake,  and  washed  it  with  the  circles  of  cool  evening  waves. 
The  more  the  evening  and  earth  grew,  still  the  more  did  the  two  souls 
feel  that  they  were  in  the  right  place.  They  had  no  tears  too  many, 
none  too  few,  and  their  bliss  needed  no  other  increase  than  its  repe- 
tition. Eugenius  sent  the  first  harmonious  tones  floating  like  swans 
through  the  pure  Alpine  sky.  The  weary  child,  twined  in  a  flowery 
wreath,  leaned  against  a  sun-dial,  and  played  with  the  flowers  which 
it  drew  around  it,  to  entwine  them  in  its  circle.  The  mother  at  last 
awoke  from  her  harmonious  transport  ;  her  eye  fell  on  the  large  eyes 
of  her  child,  which  opened  wide  upon  her  ;  singing  and  smiling, 
and,  with  overflowing  motherly  love,  she  stepped  to  the  little  angel, 
which  was  cold  and  dead.  For  its  life,  which  had  descended  from 
heaven,  had,  like  other  tones,  been  dissipated  in  the  atmosphere  of 
earth ;  death  had  breathed  upon  the  butterfly,  and  it  had  ascended 
from  the  rushing  streams  of  air  to  the  ever-refining  ether;  from  the 
flowers  of  earth  to  the  flowers  of  paradise. 

Oh,  ever  flutter  away,  ye  blessed  children !  The  angel  of  rest  wakes 
you  in  the  morning-hour  of  life  with  cradle  songs,  two  arms  bear  you 
and  your  little  coffin,  and  your  body,  with  the  two  red  cheeks,  the 
forehead  free  from  the  print  of  grief,  and  the  \vhite  hands,  glide  down 
by  a  chain  of  flowers  to  the  second  cradle,  and  you  have  only  ex- 
changed one  paradise  for  another.  But  we — oh,  we  are  crushed  by 
the  storm-winds  of  life  ;  our  heart  is  weary,  our  face  is  deeply  marked 
with  earthly  care,  and  our  soul  stiffened,  still  clings  to  the  earthy  clod. 

Turn  away  thine  eye  from  Rosamond's  piercing  shriek,  fixed 
glance,  and  petrifying  features,  if  thou  art  a  mother,  and  hast  already 
felt  this  pain  !  look  not  upon  the  mother,  who,  with  senseless  hand, 
squeezes  against  her  the  corpse  which  she  now  cannot  stifle ;  but  look  at 

T 


264  THE  MOON. 

the  father,  who,  with  his  breast,  silently  covers  his  struggling  heart,  al- 
though black  grief  has  twined  around  it  with  an  adder's  folds,  and  poi- 
soned it  with  an  adder's  teeth.  Ah,  when  he  at  last  had  conquered  the 
pain,  his  heart  was  envenomed  and  riven.  A  man  bears  the  pain  of 
the  wound,  but  sinks  under  the  scar :  a  woman  seldom  combats  her 
grief,  but  yet  she  survives  it.  "  Remain  here,"  he  said,  with  a  sup- 
pressed voice,  "  I  will  lay  it  to  rest  before  the  moon  rises."  She  said 
nothing,  kissed  the  child  in  silence,  broke  up  its  wreath  of  flowers, 
sunk  down  upon  the  sun-dial,  and  laid  her  cold  face  upon  her  arm, 
that  she  might  not  see  it  carried  away. 

On  the  way  the  dawning  light  of  the  moon  shone  upon  the  shaking 
body  of  the  infant,  and  the  father  said  :  "  Burst  forth,  oh  moon !  that 
I  may  see  the  land  wherein  He  dwells.  Rise,  oh  Elysium !  that  I  may 
think  the  soul  of  the  corse  is  within  thee.  Oh  child,  child,  dost  thou 
know  me — dost  thou  hear  me  ?  Hast  thou  above  so  fair  a  face  as 
this  one,  so  sweet  a  mouth?  Oh  thou  heavenly  mouth,  thou  heavenly 
eye,  no  more  spirit  visits  thee !"  He  laid  the  child  beneath  flowers 
which  supplied  the  place  of  all  that  we  are  generally  laid  upon  for  the 
last  time ;  but  his  heart  was  breaking  when  he  covered  the  pale  lips, 
the  open  eyes,  with  flowers  and  earth,  and  streams  of  tears  fell  first 
into  the  grave.  When  with  the  verdant  coating  of  the  clods  he  had 
built  a  little  mound,  he  felt  that  he  was  weary  of  his  journey  and  of 
life;  that  his  weakly  chest  could  not  endure  the  thin  mountain  air, 
and  that  the  ice  of  death  had  settled  in  his  heart.  He  cast  a  longing 
glance  at  the  bereaved  mother,  who  had  long  stood  trembling  behind 
him,  and  they  fell  silent  into  each  other's  arms,  and  their  eyes  could 
scarcely  weep  more. 

At  last,  from  behind  a  glacier  that  was  glimmering  out,  the  glo- 
rious moon  flowed  forth  in  loveliness  on  the  two  silent  unhappy 
ones,  and  showed  them  its  white  peaceful  meadows,  and  the  gentle 
light  with  which  it  softens  man.  "  Mother,  look  up,"  said  Eu- 
genius;  "  yonder  is  thy  son  !  See  there,  the  white  flowery  groves, 
in  which  our  child  will  play,  are  passing  over  the  moon."  Now  a  burn- 
ing fire  filled  his  inmost  self  with  consuming  power, — the  moon 
made  his  eye  blind  to  all  that  was  not  light  ;  sublime  forms  rolled 
before  him  in  the  light  stream,  and  he  heard  in  his  soul,  new  thoughts 
which  are  not  indigenous  in  man,  and  are  too  great  for  memory; 
just  as  in  a  dream  small  melodies  may  come  to  the  man  who  can  make 
none  when  awake.  Death  and  pleasure  press  upon  his  heavy  tongue. 
"  Rosamond,  why  sayest  thou  nothing  ?  Dost  thou  see  thy  child  ? 
I  look  beyond  the  long  earth,  even  to  where  the  moon  begins. 
There  is  my  son  flying  between  angels.  Full  flowers  cradle  him, — 
the  spring  of  earth  waves  over  him — children  lead  him — angels  in- 
struct him — God  loves  him.  Oh !  thou  dear  one,  thou  art  smiling ;  the 
silver  light  of  paradise  flows  with  heavenly  radiance  about  thy  little 
mouth,  and  thou  hearest  me,  and  callest  thy  parents.  Rosamond, 
give  me  thy  hand ;  we  will  go  and  die  !" 

The  slight  corporeal  chains  grew  longer.     His  advancing  spirit 


THE  MOON.  265 

fluttered  higher  on  the  borders  of  life.  With  convulsive  power  he 
seized  the  paralysed  Rosamond,  and  blind  and  sinking,  stammered 
forth,  "Rosamond,  where  art  thou  ?  I  fly!  I  die!  We  remain 
together !" 

His  heart  burst, — his  spirit  fled ;  but  Rosamond  did  not  remain 
with  him,  for  fate  snatched  her  from  his  dying  hand,  and  cast  her 
back  upon  earth,  living.  She  felt  if  his  hand  had  the  coldness  of 
death,  and  since  it  had,  she  placed  it  softly  against  her  heart,  sunk 
slowly  upon  her  failing  knees,  and  raised  her  face,  which  had  be- 
come inexpressibly  serene,  towards  the  starry  power.  Her  eyes, 
from  their  tearless  sockets,  pressed  forth  dry,  large,  and  happy,  into 
the  sky,  and  therein  calmly  sought  a  supernatural  form,  which 
should  descend  and  bear  her  up.  She  almost  fancied  she  was 
dying  then,  and  prayed  thus  :  "  Come,  thou  angel  of  rest,  come  and 
take  my  heart,  and  bear  it  to  my  beloved.  Angel  of  rest !  leave 
me  not  so  long  alone  among  the  corses.  Oh,  God !  is  there  then 
nought  invisible  about  me  ?  Angel  of  death!  thou  must  be  here, 
thou  hast  already  snatched  away  two  souls  close  by  me,  and  hast 
made  them  ascend.  I,  too,  am  dead,  draw  forth  my  glowing  soul 
from  its  cold  kneeling  corse." 

With  mad  disquiet,  she  looked  about  in  the  vacant  sky.  Sud- 
denly, in  that  still  desert,  a  star  shone  forth,  and  wound  its  way  to- 
wards the  earth.  She  spread  her  arms  in  transport,  and  thought  the 
angel  of  rest  was  rushing  towards  her.  Alas !  the  star  passed  away, 
but  she  did  not.  "  Not  yet?  Do  I  not  die  yet,  All-merciful  One?" 
sighed  poor  Rosamond. 

In  the  east  a  cloud  arose, — it  passed  over  the  moon,  sailed  in  lone- 
liness across  the  clear  sky,  and  stood  over  the  most  agonised  heart 
upon  earth.  She  threw  back  her  head,  so  as  to  face  the  cloud,  and 
said  to  the  lightning,  "  Strike  this  head,  and  release  my  heart!" 
But  the  cloud  passed  darkly  over  the  head  that  was  thrown  back  for 
it,  and  flying  down  the  sky,  sunk  behind  the  mountains.  Then, 
with  a  thousand  tears,  she  cried,  "  Can  I  not  die?  Can  I  not  die?" 

Poor  Rosamond !  How  did  pain  roll  itself  together,  give  an  angry 
serpent-spring  at  thy  heart,  and  fix  in  it  all  its  poisonous  teeth.  But 
a  weeping  spirit  poured  the  opium  of  insensibility  into  thine  heart, 
and  the  bursts  of  agony  flowed  away  in  a  soft  convulsion. 

She  awoke  in  the  morning,  but  her  mind  was  unsettled.  She 
saw  the  sun  and  the  dead  man,  but  her  eye  had  lost  all  tears,  and 
her  burst  heart  had,  like  a  broken  bell,  lost  all  tone;  she  merely 
murmured,  "  Why  can  I  not  die  ?"  She  went  back  cold  into  her 
hut,  and  said  nothing  but  these  words.  Every  night  she  went  half 
an  hour  later  to  the  corpse,  and  every  time  she  met  the  rising  moon, 
which  was  now  broken,  and  said,  while  she  turned  her  mourn- 
ing, tearless  eye  towards  its  gleaming  meadows,  "  Why  cannot 
I  die?" 

Ay,  why  canst  thou  not,  good  soul  ?  for  the  cold  earth  would 

T  2 


266  THE  MOON. 

have  sucked  out  of  all  thy  wounds  the  last  venom  with  which  the 
human  heart  is  laid  beneath  its  surface,  just  as  the  hand  when  buried 
in  earth  recovers  from  the  sting  of  a  bee.  But  I  turn  mine  eye 
away  from  thy  pain,  and  look  up  at  the  glimmering  moon,  where 
Eugenius  opens  his  eyes  among  smiling  children,  and  his  own  child, 
now  with  wings,  falls  upon  his  heart.  How  quiet  is  every  thing  in 
the  dimly  lit  portico  of  the  second  world,  a  misty  rain  of  light  silvers 
o'er  the  bright  fields  of  the  first  heaven,  and  beads  of  light  instead 
of  sparkling  dew  hang  upon  flowers  and  summits, — the  blue  of 
heaven  is  darker  over  the  lily  plains,  all  the  melodies  in  the  thinner 
air  are  but  a  dispersed  echo, — only  night-flowers  exhale  their  scents, 
and  dazzle  waving  around  calmer  glances — here  the  waving  plains 
rock  as  in  a  cradle  the  crushed  souls,  and  the  lofty  billows  of  life 
fall  gliding  apart — then  the  heart  sleeps,  the  eye  becomes  dry,  the 
wish  becomes  silent.  Children  flutter  like  the  hum  of  bees  around 
the  heart  which  is  sunk  in  earth,  and  is  still  palpitating,  and  the 
dream  after  death  represents  the  earthly  life,  as  a  dream  here  repre- 
sents childhood  here,  magically,  soothingly,  softly,  and  free  from  care. 
Eugenius  looked  from  the  moon  towards  the  earth,  which  for  a 
long  moon-day — equal  to  two  earth- weeks — floated  like  a  thin  white 
cloud  across  the  blue  sky ;  but  he  did  not  recognise  his  old  mother- 
land. At  last  the  sun  set  to  the  moon,  and  our  earth  rested,  large, 
glimmering,  and  immoveable,  on  the  pure  horizon  of  Elysium,  scat- 
tering, like  a  water-wheel  upon  a  meadow,  the  flowing  beams  upon 
the  waving  Elysian  garden.  He  then  recognised  the  earth,  upon 
which  he  had  left  a  heart  so  troubled,  in  a  breast  so  beloved ;  and  his 
soul,  which  reposed  in  pleasure,  became  full  of  melancholy,  and  of 
an  infinite  longing  after  the  beloved  of  his  former  life,  who  was  suf- 
fering below.  "Oh,  my  Rosamond!  why  dost  thou  not  leave  a 
sphere,  where  nothing  more  loves  thee?"  And  he  cast  a  suppli- 
cating look  at  the  angel  of  rest,  and  said:  "  Beloved  one,  take  me 
down  from  the  land  of  quiet,  and  lead  me  to  the  faithful  soul,  that  I 
may  see  her,  and  again  feel  pain,  so  that  she  may  not  pine  alone." 

Then  his  heart  began  suddenly,  as  it  were,  to  float  without 
any  bounds;  breezes  fluttered  around  him,  as  though  they  raised  him 
flying,  wafted  him  away  as  they  swelled,  and  veiled  him  in  floods; 
he  sank  through  the  red  evening  twilights  as  through  roses,  and 
through  the  night  as  through  bowers,  and  through  a  damp  atmo- 
sphere which  filled  his  eye  with  drops.  Then  it  seemed  as  though 
old  dreams  of  childhood  had  returned — then  there  arose  a  complaint 
from  the  distance,  which  re-opened  all  his  closed  wounds ;  the  com- 
plaint, as  it  drew  nearer,  became  Rosamond's  voice — at  last  she 
herself  was  before  him,  unrecognisable,  alone,  without  solace,  without 
a  tear,  without  colour. 

And  Rosamond  dreamed  upon  the  earth,  and  it  was  to  her  as 
though  the  sun  took  wings,  and  became  an  angel.  This  angel,  she 
dreamed,  drew  down  towards  her  the  moon,  which  became  a  gentle 


THE  MOON.  267 

face.  Beneath  this  face,  as  it  approached  her,  a  heart  at  last  formed 
itself.  It  was  Eugenius,  and  his  beloved  arose  to  meet  him.  But  as 
she  exclaimed,  with  transport,  "  Now  I  am  dead !" — the  two  dreams, 
both  hers  and  his,  vanished,  and  the  two  were  again  severed. 

Eugenius  waked  above,  the  glimmering  earth  still  stood  in  the  sky, 
his  heart  was  oppressed,  and  his  eye  beamed  with  a  tear  which  had 
not  fallen  on  the  moon.  Rosamond  waked  below,  and  a  large  warm 
dew-drop  hung  in  one  of  the  flowers  of  her  bosom.  Then  did  the 
last  mist  of  her  soul  shower  down  in  a  light  rain  of  tears,  her  soul 
became  light  and  sun-clear,  and  her  eye  hung  gently  on  the  dawning 
sky ;  the  earth  was  indeed  strange  to  her,  but  no  longer  hateful  ; 
and  her  hands  moved  as  though  they  were  leading  those  who  had 
died. 

The  angel  of  rest  looked  upon  the  moon,  and  looked  upon  the 
earth,  and  he  was  softened  by  the  sighs  from  both.  On  the  morn- 
ing-earth he  perceived  an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  and  a  bereft  one ;  he 
saw  Rosamond  during  this  transient  night  sink  upon  the  flowers 
that  slept  in  the  darkness,  and  into  the  cold  evening-dew  which  fell 
upon  the  morning-dew,  and  stretching  forth  her  hands  towards  the 
shaded  heaven,  which  was  full  of  night-birds,  look  up  towards  the 
moon  with  inexpressible  longing,  as  it  floated  trembling  in  the  sun. 
The  angel  looked  upon  the  moon,  and  near  him  wept  the  departed 
one,  who  saw  the  earth  swimming  deep  below, —  a  flood  of  shade, 
fitted  into  a  ring  of  fire,  and  from  whom  the  mourning  form  that  dwelt 
upon  it,  took  all  the  happiness  of  heaven.  Then  was  the  heavenly 
heart  of  the  angel  of  peace  broken — he  seized  the  hand  of  Eugenius 
and  that  of  his  child — drew  both  through  the  second  world,  and 
bore  them  down  to  the  dark  earth.  Rosamond  saw  three  forms 
wandering  through  the  obscurity,  the  gleam  from  whom  reached 
the  starry  heaven,  and  went  along  hovering  over  them.  Her  be- 
loved and  her  child  flew  like  spring-days  to  her  heart,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  thou  dear  one,  come  with  us!"  Her  maternal  heart  broke 
with  maternal  love,  the  circulation  of  earth-blood  was  stopped,  her 
life  was  ended  ;  and  happily,  happily,  did  she  stammer  forth  to  the 
two  beloved  hearts,  "  Can  I  not  then  die?"  "Thou  hast  died  al- 
ready," said  the  angel  of  the  three  fond  ones,  weeping  with  joy, 
"  Yonder  thou  seest  the  sphere  of  earth,  whence  thou  comest,  still 
In  shade."  And  the  waves  of  joy  closed  on  high  over  the  blessed 
world,  and  all  the  happy  and  all  children  looked  upon  our  sphere 

which  still  trembled  in  the  shade. 

***** 

Yea,  indeed,  is  it  in  shade !  But  man  is  higher  than  his  place. 
He  looks  up  and  spreads  the  wings  of  his  soul,  and  when  the  sixty 
minutes,  which  we  call  sixty  years,  have  finished  striking,  he  then, 
lifts  himself  up,  and  kindles  himself  as  he  rises,  and  the  ashes  of  his 
plumage  fall  back,  and  the  unveiled  soul  rises  alone,  free  from  earth, 
and  pure  as  a  musical  tone.  But  here,  in  the  midst  of  dark  life,  he 


268  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

sees  the  mountains  of  the  future  world  standing  in  the  morning  gold 
of  a  sun  that  does  not  arise  here.  Thus,  the  inhabitant  of  the  North 
Pole  in  the  long  night,  when  the  sun  has  ceased  to  rise,  discerns  at 
twelve  o'clock,  a  dawn  gilding  the  highest  mountains,  and  he  thinks 
of  his  long  summer,  when  it  will  set  no  more. 

J.  O. 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

BY  E.  T.  W.  HOFFMANN. 

ON  the  20th  of  November,  1815,  Albert  von  B ,  lieutenant- 
colonel  in  the  Prussian  service,  found  himself  on  the  road  from 
Liege  to  Aix-la-Chapelle.  The  corps  to  which  he  belonged  was  on 
its  return  from  France  to  march  to  Liege  to  head-quarters  on  that 
very  day,  and  was  to  remain  there  for  two  or  three  days  more. 
Albert  had  arrived  the  evening  before ;  but  in  the  morning  he  felt 
himself  attacked  by  a  strange  restlessness,  and — as  he  would  hardly 
have  confessed  to  himself — an  obscure  dream,  which  had  haunted 
him  all  night,  and  had  foretold  that  a  very  pleasant  adventure 
awaited  him  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  was  the  only  cause  of  his  sudden 
departure.  Much  surprised  even  at  his  own  proceeding,  he  was 
sitting  on  the  swift  horse,  which  would,  he  hoped,  take  him  to  the 
city  before  nightfall. 

A  severe  cutting  autumn  wind  roared  over  the  bare  fields,  and 
awakened  the  voices  of  the  leafless  wood  in  the  distance,  which 
united  their  groans  to  its  howling.  Birds  of  prey  came  croaking, 
and  followed  in  flocks  the  thick  clouds  which  gathered  "more  and 
more,  until  the  last  ray  of  sunlight  had  vanished,  and  a  faint  dull 
gray  had  overspread  the  entire  sky.  Albert  wrapped  his  mantle 
more  closely  about  him,  and  while  he  trotted  on  along  the  broad 
road,  the  picture  of  the  last  eventful  time  unfolded  itself  to  his  ima- 
gination. He  thought  how,  a  few  months  before,  he  had  travelled 
on  the  same  road,  in  an  opposite  direction,  and  during  the  loveliest 
season  of  the  year.  The  fields  then  bloomed  forth  luxuriantly,  the 
fragrant  meadows  resembled  variegated  carpets,  and  the  bushes  in 
which  the  birds  joyously  chirped  and  sung,  shone  in  the  fair  light 
of  golden  sunbeams.  The  earth,  like  a  longing  bride,  had  richly 
adorned  herself  to  receive  in  her  dark  nuptial  chamber,  the  victims 
consecrated  to  death — the  heroes  who  fell  in  the  sanguinary  battles. 

Albert  had  reached  the  corps  to  which  he  was  appointed,  when 
the  cannon  had  already  begun  to  thunder  by  the  Sambre,  though 
he  was  in  time  enough  to  take  part  in  the  bloody  battles  of  Char- 
leroi,  Gilly,  and  Gosselins.  Indeed,  chance  seemed  to  wish  that 
Albert  should  be  present  just  when  any  thing  decided  took  place. 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  269 

Thus  he  was  at  the  last  storming  of  the  village  Planchenoit,  which 
caused  the  victory  in  the  most  remarkable  of  all  battles — Wa- 
terloo. He  was  in  the  last  engagement  of  the  campaign,  when 
the  final  effort  of  rage  and  fierce  despair  on  the  part  of  the  enemy 
wreaked  itself  on  the  immoveable  courage  of  the  heroes,  who  hav- 
ing a  fine  position  in  the  village  of  Issy,  drove  back  the  foe  as  they 
sought,  amid  the  most  furious  discharge  of  grape,  to  scatter  death 
and  destruction  in  the  ranks;  and  indeed  drove  them  back  so  far, 
that  the  sharp-shooters  pursued  them  almost  to  the  barriers  of  Paris. 
The  night  afterwards  (that  of  the  3rd  and  4th  of  July),  was,  as  is 
well  known,  that  on  which  the  military  convention  for  the  sur- 
render of  the  metropolis  was  settled  at  St.  Cloud. 

The  battle  of  Issy  now  rose  brightly  before  Albert's  soul;  he 
thought  of  things,  which  as  it  seemed,  he  had  not  observed,  nay,  had 
not  been  able  to  observe  during  the  fight.  Thus  the  faces  of  many 
individual  officers  and  men  appeared  before  his  eyes,  depicted  in  the 
most  lively  manner,  and  his  heart  was  struck  by  the  inexplicable 
expression,  not  of  proud  or  unfeeling  contempt  of  death,  but  of 
really  divine  inspiration,  which  beamed  from  many  an  eye.  Thus 
he  heard  sounds,  now  exhorting  to  fight,  now  uttered  with  the  last 
sigh  of  death,  which  deserved  to  be  treasured  up  for  posterity  like 
the  animating  utterances  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity. 

"  Do  I  not/'  thought  Albert,  "almost  feel  like  one  who  has  a 
notion  of  his  dream  when  he  wakes,  but  who  does  not  recollect  all 
its  single  features  till  several  days  afterwards?  Ay,  a  dream,  and 
only  a  dream,  one  would  think,  by  flying  over  time  and  space,  with 
its  mighty  wings,  could  render  possible,  the  gigantic,  monstrous, 
unheard-of  events,  that  took  place  during  the  eighteen  eventful  days 
of  a  campaign,  which  mocks  the  boldest  thoughts,  the  most  daring 
combinations  of  the  speculative  mind.  Indeed  the  human  mind 
does  not  know  its  own  greatness ;  the  act  surpasses  the  thought.  For 
it  is  not  rude  physical  force,  no  !  it  is  the  mind,  which  creates 
deeds  as  they  have  happened,  and  it  is  the  psychic  power  of  every 
single  person,  really  inspired,  which  attaches  itself  to  the  wisdom  and 
genius  of  the  general,  and  helps  to  accomplish  the  monstrous  and  the 
unexpected." 

Albert  was  disturbed  in  these  meditations  by  his  groom,  who 
kept  about  twenty  paces  behind  him,  and  whom  he  heard  cry  out, 
"  Eh !  Paul  Talkebarth,  where  the  deuce  do  you  come  from?"  He 
turned  his  horse,  and  perceived  that  a  horseman,  who  had  just  trotted 
past  him,  and  whom  he  had  not  particularly  observed,  was  standing 
still  with  his  groom,  beating  out  the  cheeks  of  the  large  fox-fur  cap 
with  which  his  head  was  covered,  so  that  soon  the  well-known  face 

of  Paul  Talkebarth,  Colonel  Victor  von  S 's  old  groom,  was  made 

manifest,  glowing  with  the  finest  vermilion. 

Now  Albert  knew  at  once  what  it  was  that  impelled  him  so  ir- 
resistibly from  Liege  to  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  he  could  not  compre- 
hend how  the  thought  of  Victor,  his  most  intimate  and  dearest  friend, 


270  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

whom  lie  had  every  reason  to  suppose  at  Aix,  merely  lay  dimly  in 
his  soul,  and  attained  nothing  like  distinctness.  He  now  also  cried 
out,  "  Eh  !  Paul  Talkebarth,  whence  do  you  come?  Where  is  your 
master?" 

Paul  curvetted  up  to  him  very  gracefully,  and  said,  holding  the 
palm  of  his  hand  against  the  far-too-large  cockade  of  his  cap,  by  way 
of  military  salutation:  "  Yes,  'faith,  I  arn  Paul  Talkebarth  indeed, 
gracious  lieutenant-colonel.  We've  bad  weather  here,  Zermannore 
(s?/?*  mon  honneur).  But  the  groundsel  brings  that  about.  Old 
Lizzy  always  used  to  say  so.  I  cannot  say,  gracious  lieutenant- 
colonel,  if  you  know  Lizzy:  she  lives  at  Genthin,  but  if  one  has 
been  at  Paris,  and  has  seen  the  wild  goat  in  the  Schartinpland 
(Jardin  des  Plantes). — Now,  what  one  seeks  for  one  finds  near,  and 
here  I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  gracious  lieutenant-colonel,  whom 
I  was  to  seek  at  Liege.  The  spirus  familis  (spiritus  familiaris),  whis- 
pered yesterday  evening  into  my  master's  ear,  that  the  gracious 
lieutenant-colonel  had  come  to  Liege.  Zackermanntho  (sacrt  mon 
de  Dieii),  there  was  delight !  It  may  be  as  it  will,  but  I  have  never 
put  any  faith  in  the  cream-colour.  A  fine  beast,  Zermannore,  but 
a  mere  childish  thing,  and  the  baronness  did  her  utmost — that  is 
true  !  There  are  decent  sort  of  people  here,  but  the  wine  is  good 
for  nothing — and  when  one  has  been  in  Paris —  !  Now,  the  colonel 
might  have  marched  in,  like  one  through  the  Argen  trumph  (Arc 
de  triomphe),  and  I  should  have  put  the  new  shabrach  on  the  white 
horse ;  gad,  how  he  would  have  pricked  up  his  ears !  But  old  Lizzy, — 
she  was  my  aunt,  at  Genthin,  was  always  accustomed  to  say — I 
don't  know,  gracious  lieutenant-colonel,  whether  you — " 

"  May  your  tongue  be  lamed,"  said  Albert,  interrupting  the  in- 
corrigible babbler.  "  If  your  master  is  at  Aix,  we  must  make  haste, 
for  we  have  still  above  five  leagues  to  go." 

"  Stop,"  cried  Paul  Talkebarth,  with  all  his  might;  "  stop,  stop, 
gracious  lieutenant-colonel,  the  weather  is  bad  here ;  but  for  fodder — 
those  who  have  eyes  like  us,  that  shine  in  the  fog." 

"  Paul,"  cried  Albert,  "  do  not  wear  out  my  patience.  Where 
is  your  master?  Is  he  not  in  Aix?" 

Paul  Talkebarth  smiled  with  such  delight,  that  his  whole  counte- 
nance puckered  up  into  a  thousand  folds,  like  a  wet  glove,  and  then 
stretching  out  his  arm  he  pointed  to  the  building,  which  might  be 
seen  behind  the  wood,  upon  a  gentle  declivity,  and  said,  "  Yonder, 
in  the  castle  !"  Without  waiting  for  what  Paul  might  have  to 
prattle  further,  Albert  struck  into  the  path  that  led  from  the  high 
road,  and  hurried  on  in  a  rapid  trot.  After  the  little  that  he  has 
said,  honest  Paul  Talkebarth  must  appear  to  the  gracious  reader  as 
an  odd  sort  of  fellow.  We  have  only  to  say,  that  he  being  an  heir-loom 

of  the  family,  served  Colonel  Victor  von  S from  the  moment 

when  the  latter  first  put  on  his  officer's  sword,  after  having  been  the 
intcndent-gcneral  and  maitre  des  plaisirs  of  all  the  sports  and  mad 
pranks  of  his  childhood.  An  old  and  very  odd  mayister,  who  had 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  271 

been  tutor  to  the  family  through  two  generations,  completed,  with 
the  amount  of  education  which  he  allowed  to  flow  to  honest  Paul, 
those  happy  talents  for  extraordinary  confusion  and  strange  Eulen- 
spicyelei*  with  which  nature  had  by  no  means  scantily  endued  him. 
At  the  same  time  he  was  the  most  faithful  soul  that  could  possibly 
exist.  Ready  every  moment  to  sacrifice  his  life  for  his  master, 
neither  his  advanced  age  nor  any  other  consideration  could  prevent 
the  good  Paul  from  following  him  to  the  field  in  the  year  1813. 
His  own  nature  rendered  him  superior  to  every  hardship ;  but  less 
strong  than  his  corporeal  was  his  spiritual  nature,  which  seemed  to 
have  received  a  strange  shock,  or  at  any  rate  some  extraordinary 
impulse  during  his  residence  in  France,  especially  in  Paris.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  did  he  properly  feel  that  Magister  Spreugepileus 
had  been  perfectly  right  when  he  called  him  a  great  light,  that  would 
one  day  shine  forth  brightly.  This  shining  quality  Paul  had  dis- 
covered by  the  aptness  with  which  he  had  accommodated  himself  to 
the  manners  of  a  foreign  people,  and  had  learned  their  language. 
Therefore,  he  boasted  not  a  little,  and  ascribed  it  to  his  extraordinary 
talent  alone,  that  he  could  often,  in  respect  to  quarters  and  provisions, 
obtain  that  which  seemed  unattainable.  Talkebarth's  fine  French 
phrases,  the  gentle  reader  has  already  been  made  acquainted  with 
some  pleasant  curses — were  current,  if  not  through  the  whole  army, 
at  any  rate  through  the  corps  to  which  his  master  was  attached. 
Every  trooper  who  came  to  quarters  in  a  village,  cried  to  the  peasant 
with  Paul's  words,  "  Pisang !  de  lavendel  pur  di  schevals !"  (Toy- 
san, de  Pavoinepour  les  chevauz.) 

Paul,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  eccentric  natures,  did  not 
like  things  to  happen  in  the  ordinary  manner.  He  was  particularly 
fond  of  surprises,  and  sought  to  prepare  them  in  every  possible  man- 
ner for  his  master,  who  was  certainly  often  surprised,  though  in 
quite  another  manner  than  was  designed  by  honest  Talkebarth, 
whose  happy  schemes  generally  failed  in  their  execution.  Thus,  he 

now  entreated  Lieutenant-colonel  von  B ,  when  the  latter  was 

riding  straight  up  to  the  principal  entrance  of  the  house,  to  take  a 
circuitous  course  and  enter  the  court-yard  by  the  back  way,  that  his 
master  might  not  see  him  before  he  entered  the  room.  To  meet  this 
view,  Albert  was  obliged  to  ride  over  a  marshy  meadow,  where  he 
was  grievously  splashed  by  the  mud,  and  then  he  had  to  go  over  a 
fragile  bridge  on  a  ditch.  Paul  Talkebarth  wished  to  show  off  his 
horsemanship  by  jumping  cleverly  over ;  but  he  fell  in  with  his  horse  up 
to  the  belly,  and  was  with  difficulty  brought  back  to  firm  ground  by 
Albert's  groom.  Now,  in  high  spirits,  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  with  a  wild  huzza  leaped  into  the  court-yard.  As  all  the  geese, 
ducks,  turkeys,  and  poultry  of  the  household  were  gathered  together 
here  to  rest;  while  from  the  o^e  side  a  flock  of  sheep,  and  from  the 
other  side  a  flock  of  pigs,  had  been  driven  in,  we  may  easily  imagine 
that  Paul  Talkebarth,  who  not  being  perfect  master  of  his  horse, 

*  Eulenspiegelei  signifies  odd  practical  jokes,  and  is  derived  from  Eulenspiegel,  the 
traditional  perpetrator  of  such  pleasantries. — J.  O. 


272  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

galloped  about  the  court  in  large  circles,  without  any  will  of  his  own, 
produced  no  little  devastation  in  the  domestic  economy.  Amid  the 
fearful  noise  of  squeaking,  cackling,  bleating,  grunting  animals,  the 
barking  of  the  dogs,  and  the  scolding  of  the  servants,  Albert  made 
his  glorious  entrance,  wishing  honest  Paul  Talkebarth  at  all  the 
devils,  with  his  project  of  surprise. 

At  last  Albert  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  entered  the  house,  which, 
without  any  claim  to  beauty  or  elegance,  looked  roomy  and  conve- 
nient enough.  On  the  steps  he  was  met  by  a  well-fed,  not  very  tall 
man,  in  a  short,  gray,  hunting-jacket,  who,  with  a  half-sour  smile, 
said:  "  Quartered  ?"  By  the  tone  in  which  the  man  asked  this  ques- 
tion, Albert  perceived  at  once  that  the  master  of  the  house,  Baron 

von  E (as  he  had  learned  from  Paul)  was  before  him.  He  assured 

him  that  he  was  not  quartered,  but  merely  purposed  to  visit  his  in- 
timate friend,  Colonel  Victor  von  S ,  who  was,  he  was  told, 

residing  there,  and  that  he  only  required  the  baron's  hospitality  for 
that  evening  and  the  night,  as  he  intended  to  start  very  early  on  the 
following  morning. 

The  baron's  face  visibly  cleared  up,  and  the  full  sun-shine,  which 
ordinarily  seemed  to  play  upon  his  good-humoured,  but  somewhat 
too  broad,  countenance,  returned  completely,  when  Albert  as  he 
ascended  the  stairs  with  him  remarked,  that  in  all  probability  no 
division  of  the  army  now  marching  would  touch  this  spot. 

The  baron  opened  a  door,  Albert  entered  a  cheerful-looking  par- 
lour, and  perceived  Victor,  who  sat  with  his  back  towards  him.  At 
the  sound  of  his  entrance  Victor  turned  round^  and  with  a  loud  ex- 
clamation of  joy  fell  into  the  arms  of  the  lieutenant.  "Is  it  not 
true,  Albert,  you  thought  of  me  last  night  ?  I  knew  it,  my  inner 
sense  told  me  that  you  were  in  Liege  at  the  very  moment  when  you 
first  entered  the  place.  I  fixed  all  my  thoughts  upon  you,  my  spi- 
ritual arms  embraced  you  ;  you  could  not  escape  me." 

Albert  confessed  that — as  the  gentle  reader  already  knows — dark 
dreams  which  came  to  no  clear  shape  had  driven  him  from  Liege. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Victor,  with  transport,  "  yes,  it  is  no  fancy,  no  idle 
notion  ;  the  divine  power  is  given  to  us,  which,  ruling  space  and 
time,  manifests  the  supersensual  in  the  world  of  sense." 

Albert  did  not  know  what  Victor  meant.  Indeed  the  whole  be- 
haviour of  his  friend,  so  different  from  his  usual  manner,  seemed  to 
denote  an  over-excited  state.  In  the  meanwhile  the  lady,  who  had 
been  sitting  before  the  fire  near  Victor,  arose  and  approached  the 
stranger.  Albert  bowed  to  her,  casting  an  inquiring  glance  at  Victor. 
"  This  is  the  Baroness  Aurora  von  E ,"  said  Victor,  "  my  hos- 
pitable hostess,  who  tends  me  ever  carefully  and  faithfully  in  sick- 
ness and  in  trouble !" 

Albert  as  he  looked  at  the  baroness  felt  quite  convinced  that  the 
little  plump  woman  had  not  yet  attained  her  fortieth  year,  and  that 
she  would  have  been  very  well  made  had  not  the  nutritious  food 
of  the  country,  together  with  much  sunshine,  caused  her  shape  to 
deviate  a  little  from  the  line  of  beauty.  This  counteracted  the  favour- 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  273 

able  effect  of  her  pretty,  fresh-coloured  face,  the  dark  blue  eyes  of 
which  might  otherwise  have  beamed  somewhat  dangerously  for  the 
heart.  Albert  considered  the  attire  of  the  baroness  almost  too 
homely,  for  the  material  of  her  dress,  which  was  of  a  dazzling  white- 
ness, while  it  showed  the  excellence  of  the  washing  and  bleaching 
department,  also  showed  the  great  distance  at  which  the  domestic 
spinning  and  weaving  stood  from  perfection.  A  cotton  kerchief,  of 
a  very  glaring  pattern,  thrown  negligently  about  the  neck,  so  that 
its  whiteness  was  visible  enough,  did  not  at  all  increase  the  brilliant 
effect  of  the  costume.  The  oddest  thing  of  all  was,  that  the  baroness 
wore  on  her  little  feet  the  most  elegant  silken  shoes,  and  on  her  head 
the  most  charming  lace  cap,  after  the  newest  Parisian  fashion.  This 
head-dress,  it  is  true,  reminded  the  lieutenant-colonel  of  a  pretty 
grisette,  with  whom  chance  had  made  him  acquainted  at  Paris,  but 
for  this  very  reason  a  quantity  of  uncommonly  gallant  things  flowed 
from  his  lips,  while  he  apologised  for  his  sudden  appearance.  The 
baroness  did  not  fail  to  reply  to  these  prettinesses  in  the  proper  style, 
and  having  once  opened  her  mouth  the  stream  of  her  discourse  flowed 
on  uninterruptedly,  till  she  at  last  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  it  would 
be  impossible  to  show  sufficient  attention  to  such  an  amiable  guest, 
the  friend  of  the  colonel,  who  was  so  dear  to  the  family.  At  the 
sudden  ring  of  the  bell,  and  the  shrill  cry:  "  Mariane,  Mariane!" 
a  peevish  old  woman  made  her  appearance,  who,  by  the  bunch  of 
keys  which  hung  from  her  waist,  seemed  to  be  the  housekeeper.  A 
consultation  was  now  held  with  this  lady  and  the  husband,  as  to  what 
nice  things  could  be  got  ready.  It  was  soon  found,  however,  that 
all  the  delicacies,  such  as  venison  and  the  like,  were  either  already 
consumed,  or  could  only  be  got  the  next  day.  Albert,  with  difficulty 
suppressing  his  displeasure,  said,  that  they  would  force  him  to  quit 
immediately  in  the  night,  if  on  his  account  they  disturbed  the  ar- 
rangements of  the  house  in  the  slightest  degree.  A  little  cold  meat, 
nay,  some  bread  and  butter,  would  be  sufficient  for  his  supper.  The 
baroness  replied  by  protesting  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  lieutenant- 
colonel  to  clo  without  something  warm,  after  his  ride  in  the  rough, 
bleak  weather,  and  after  a  long  consultation  with  Mariane,  the  pre- 
paration of  some  mulled  wine  was  found  to  be  possible  and  decided 
on.  Mariane  vanished  through  the  door-way,  rattling  as  she  went, 
but  at  the  very  moment  when  they  were  about  to  take  their  seats, 
the  baroness  was  called  out  by  an  amazed  maid-servant.  Albert  over- 
heard that  the  baroness  was  being  informed  at  the  door  of  the  fright- 
ful devastations  of  Paul  Talkebarth,  with  a  list — no  inconsiderable 
one — of  the  dead,  wounded,  and  missing.  The  baron  ran  out  after 
his  wife,  and  while  she  was  scolding  he  was  wishing  honest  Paul 
Talkebarth  at  Jericho,  and  the  servants  were  uttering  general  lamen- 
tations. Albert  briefly  told  his  friend  of  Paul's  exploit  in  the  yard. 
"  That  old  Eulenspiegel  is  always  playing  such  tricks,"  said  Victor, 
angrily,  "  and  yet  the  rascal  means  so  well  from  the  very  bottom  of 
his  heart,  that  one  cannot  attack  him." 


274  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

At  that  moment  all  became  quiet  without;  the  chief  maid-servant 
had  brought  the  glad  intelligence  that  Hans  Gucklick  had  been 
frightened  indeed,  but  had  come  off  free  from  other  harm,  and  was 
now  eating  with  a  good  appetite. 

The  baron  entered  with  a  cheerful  mien,  and  repeated,  in  a  tone 
of  satisfaction,  that  Hans  Gucklick  had  been  spared  from  that  wild, 
life-disregarding  Paul  Talkebarth.  At  the  same  time  he  took  occa- 
sion to  expatiate  at  great  length,  and  from  an  agricultural  point  of 
view,  the  utility  of  extending  the  breeding  of  poultry.  This  Hans 
Gucklick,  who  had  only  been  very  frightened,  and  had  not  been 
otherwise  hurt,  was  the  old  cock,  who  was  highly  prized,  and  had 
been  for  years  the  pride  and  ornament  of  the  whole  poultry-yard. 

The  baroness  now  made  her  re- appearance,  but  it  was  only  to  arm 
herself  with  a  great  bunch  of  keys,  which  she  took  out  of  a  cup- 
board. Quickly  she  hurried  off,  and  Albert  could  hear  both  her 
and  the  housekeeper  clattering  and  rattling  up  stairs  and  down 
stairs,  accompanied  by  the  shrill  voices  of  the  maid-servants  who 
were  called,  and  the  pleasant  music  of  pestles  and  mortars  and  graters, 
which  ascended  from  the  kitchen.  "  Good  heavens  !"  thought  Albert. 
"  If  the  general  had  marched  in  with  the  whole  of  the  head-quarters, 
there  could  not  have  been  more  noise  than  has  been  occasioned  by 
my  unlucky  cup  of  mulled  wine." 

The  baron,  who  had  wandered  from  the  breeding  of  poultry  to 
hunting,  had  not  quite  got  to  the  end  of  a  very  complicated  story 
of  a  fine  deer  which  he  had  seen,  and  had  not  shot,  when  the 
baroness  entered  the  room,  followed  by  no  less  a  person  than  Paul 
Talkebarth,  who  bore  the  mulled  wine  in  a  handsome  porcelain 
vessel.  "  Bring  it  all  here,  good  Paul,"  said  the  baroness,  very 
kindly.  Whereupon  Paul  replied,  with  an  indescribably  ^jiweet, 
"  A  fu  zerpir  (a  vous  servir),  madame."  The  manes  of  the  victims 
in  the  yard  seemed  to  be  appeased,  and  all  seemed  forgiven. 

Now,  at  last,  they  all  sat  down  quietly  together.  The  baroness, 
after  she  had  handed  the  cup  to  the  visiter,  began  to  knit  a  mon- 
strous worsted  stocking,  and  the  baron  took  occasion  to  enlarge 
upon  the  species  of  knitting  which  was  designed  to  be  worn  while 
hunting.  During  his  discourse  he  seized  the  vessel,  that  he  also 
might  take  a  cup.  "Ernest!"  cried  the  baroness  to  him,  in  an 
angry  tone.  He  at  once  desisted  from  his  purpose,  and  slunk  to  the 
cupboard,  where  he  quietly  refreshed  himself  with  a  glass  of 
Schnapps.  Albert  availed  frimself  of  the  moment  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  baron's  tedious  disquisitions,  by  urgently  asking  his  friend  how 
he  was  going  on.  Victor  was  of  opinion  that  there  was  plenty  of 
time  to  say,  in  two  words,  what  had  happened  to  him  since  their 
separation,  and  that  he  could  not  expect  to  hear  from  Albert's  lips  all 
the  mighty  occurrences  of  the  late  portentous  period.  The  baroness 
assured  him,  with  a  smile,  that  there  was  nothing  prettier  than 
tales  of  war  and  murder;  while  the  baron,  who  had  rejoined  the 
party,  said  that  he  liked  amazingly  to  hear  of  battles,  when  they 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  275 

were  very  bloody,  as  they  always  reminded  him  of  his  hunting-parties. 
He  was  upon  the  point  of  returning  to  the  story  of  the  stag  that  he 
did  not  shoot,  but  Albert  cut  him  short,  and  laughing  out  loud, 
though  with  increased  displeasure,  remarked  that,  though  there  was, 
to  be  sure,  some  smart  shooting  in  the  chase,  it  was  a  comfortable 
arrangement  that  the  stags,  hares,  &c.,  whose  blood  was  at  stake, 
could  not  return  the  fire. 

Albert  felt  thoroughly  warmed  by  the  beverage  which  he  had 
drunk,  and  which  he  found  was  excellently  made  of  splendid  wine, 
and  his  comfortable  state  of  body  had  a  good  effect  on  his  mind, 
completely  overcoming  the  ill-humour  which  had  taken  possession 
of  him  in  this  uncomfortable  society.  He  unfolded  before  Victor's 
eyes  the  whole  sublime  and  fearful  picture  of  the  awful  battle,  that 
at  once  annihilated  all  the  hopes  of  the  fancied  ruler  of  the  world. 
With  the  most  glowing  imagination,  he  described  the  invincible, 
lion-like  courage  of  those  battalions  who  at  last  stormed  the  village 
of  Planchenoit,  and  concluded  with  the  words :  "  Oh !  Victor,  Victor ! 
would  you  had  been  there,  and  fought  with  me !" 

Victor  had  moved  close  to  the  baroness's  chair,  and  having  picked 
up  the  large  ball  of  worsted,  which  had  rolled  down  from  her  lap, 
was  playing  with  it  in  his  hands,  so  that  the  industrious  knitter  was 
compelled  to  draw  the  threads  through  his  fingers,  and  often  could 
not  avoid  touching  his  arm  with  her  long  needle. 

At  the  words,  which  Albert  uttered  with  an  elevated  voice,  Victor 
appeared  suddenly  to  wake  as  from  a  dream.  He  eyed  his  friend 
with  a  singular  smile,  and  said,  in  a  half-suppressed  tone:  u  Yes, 
dear  Albert,  what  you  say  is  but  too  true !  Man  often  implicates 
himself  early  in  snares,  the  gordian  knot  of  which  death  alone 
forcibly  sunders !  As  for  what  concerns  the  raising  of  the  devil  in 
general,  the  audacious  invocation  of  one's  own  fearful  spirit  is  the 
most  perilous  thing  possible.  But  here  every  thing  sleeps  !" 

Victor's  dark,  unintelligible  words  were  a  sufficient  proof  that  he 
had  not  heard  a  syllable  of  all  that  Albert  had  said,  but  had  been  oc- 
cupied all  the  time  with  dreams,  which  must  have  been  of  a  very 
singular  kind. 

Albert,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  dumb  with  amazement.  Look- 
ing around  him  he  perceived,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  master  of 
the  house,  who  with  hands  folded  before  him,  had  sunk  against  the 
back  of  a  chair,  had  dropped  his  weary  head  upon  his  breast,  and 
that  the  baroness  with  closed  eyes  continued  to  knit  mechanically 
like  a  piece  of  clock-work  wound  up. 

Albert  sprung  up  quickly,  making  a  noise  as  he  rose,  but  at 
the  very  same  moment  the  baroness  rose  also,  and  approached  him 
with  an  air,  so  free,  noble,  and  graceful,  that  he  saw  no  more  of  the 
little,  plump,  almost  comical  figure,  but  thought  that  the  baroness 
was  transformed  to  another  creature.  "Pardon  the  housewife 
who  is  employed  from  break  of  day,  lieutenant-colonel,"  said  she,  in 
a  sweet  voice,  as  she  grasped  Albert's  hand,  "  if  in  the  evening  she 


276  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

is  unable  to  resist  the  effects  of  fatigue,  even  though  she  hears 
the  greatest  events  recorded  in  the  finest  manner.  This  you  must 
also  pardon  in  the  active  sportsman.  You  must  certainly  be  anxious 
to  be  alone  with  your  friend  and  to  open  your  heart  to  him,  and 
under  such  circumstances  every  witness  is  an  incumberance.  It 
will  certainly  be  agreeable  to  you  to  take,  alone  with  your  friend, 
the  supper  which  I  have  served  in  his  apartment." 

No  proposal  could  have  been  more  opportune  to  Albert.  He 
immediately  in  the  most  courteous  language,  wished  a  good  night 
to  his  kind  hostess,  whom  he  now  heartily  forgave  for  the  bunch 
of  keys,  and  the  grief  about  frightened  Hans  Gucklick,  as  well  as 
for  the  stocking-knitting  and  the  nodding. 

"  Dear  Ernest !"  cried  the  baroness,  as  the  friends  wished  to  bid 
good  night  to  the  baron  ;  but  as  the  latter,  instead  of  answering 
only  cried  out  very  plainly:  "Huss!  Huss!  Tyrus!  Waldmann ! 
Aliens !  "  and  let  his  head  hang  on  the  other  side,  they  tried  no  more 
to  arouse  him  from  his  pleasant  dreams. 

"  Now,"  said  Albert,  finding  himself  alone  with  Victor  for  the 
first  time,  "  tell  me  how  you  have  fared.  But,  however,  first  let  us 
eat  a  bit,  for  I  am  very  hungry,  and  it  appears  there  is  something 
more  here  than  the  bread  and  butter." 

The  lieutenant-colonel  was  right,  for  he  found  a  table  elegantly 
set  out  with  the  choicest  cold  delicacies,  the  chief  ornament  of  which 
was  a  Bayonne  ham,  and  a  pasty  of  red  partridges.  Paul  Talkebarth, 
when  Albert  expressed  his  satisfaction,  said,  waggishly^  smiling,  that 
if  he  had  not  been  present,  and  had  not  given  Mariane  a  hint  of 
what  it  was  that  the  lieutenant-colonel  liked,  as  suppenfink  (super- 
Jine) — but  that,  nevertheless,  he  could  not  forget  his  aunt  Lizzy,  who 
had  burned  the  rice-pudding  on  his  wedding-day,  and  that  he  had 
now  been  a  widower  for  thirty  years,  and  one  could  not  tell,  since 
marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  and  that  Mariane — but  that  it  was  the 
gracious  baroness  who  had  given  him  the  best  herself,  namely,  a  whole 
basket  of  celery  for  the  gentleman.  Albert  did  not  know  why  such 
an  unreasonable  quantity  of  vegetable  food  should  be  served,  and  was 
highly  delighted,  when  Paul  Talkebarth  brought  the  basket,  which 
contained — not  celery — but  six  bottles  of  the  finest  vin  de  Sillery. 

While  Albert  was  enjoying  himself,  Victor  narrated  how  he  had 
come  to  the  estate  of  the  Baron  von  E . 

The  fatigues  of  the  first  campaign  (1813),  which  had  often  proved 
too  much  for  the  strongest  constitutions,  had  ruined  Victor's  health. 
The  waters  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  would,  he  hoped,  restore  him,  and  he 
was  residing  there  when  Bonaparte's  flight  from  Elba  gave  the  signal 
for  a  new  and  sanguinary  contest.  When  preparations  were  mak- 
ing for  the  campaign,  Victor  received  orders  from  the  Residence 
to  join  the  army  on  the  Lower  Rhine,  if  his  health  permitted ;  but 
fate  allowed  him  no  more  than  a  ride  of  four  or  five  leagues.  Just 
before  the  gate  of  the  house  in  which  the  friends  now  were,  Victor's 
horse,  which  had  usually  been  the  surest  and  most  fearless  animal  in 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  277 

the  world,  and  had  been  tried  in  the  wildest  tumults  of  battle,  sud- 
denly took  fright,  and  reared,  and  Victor  fell — to  use  his  own 
words — like  a  schoolboy  who  has  mounted  a  horse  for  the  first  time. 
He  lay  insensible,  while  the  blood  flowed  from  a  severe  wound  in 
his  head,  which  he  had  struck  against  a  sharp  stone.  He  was  car- 
ried into  the  house,  and  here,  as  removal  seemed  dangerous,  he  was 
forced  to  remain  till  the  time  of  his  recovery,  which  did  not  yet 
seem  complete,  since,  although  the  wound  had  been  long  healed,  he 
was  weakened  by  the  attacks  of  fever.  Victor  spoke  of  the  care  and 
attention  which  the  baroness  had  bestowed  upon  him  in  terms  of  the 
warmest  gratitude. 

"  Well,"  cried  Albert,  laughing  aloud,  "  for  this  I  was  not  pre- 
pared. I  thought  you  were  going  to  tell  ine  something  very  extra- 
ordinary, and  now,  lo,  and  behold — don't  be  offended — the  whole 
affair  seems  to  turn  out  a  silly  sort  of  story,  like  those  that  have  been 
so  worn  out  in  a  hundred  stupid  novels,  that  nobody  with  decency 
can  have  any  thing  to  do  with  such  adventures.  The  wounded 
knight  is  borne  into  the  castle,  the  mistress  of  the  house  tends  him, 
and  he  becomes  a  tender  Amoroso.  For,  Victor,  that  you,  in  spite 
of  your  good  taste  hitherto,  in  spite  of  your  whole  mode  of  life, 
should  all  of  a  sudden  fall  in  love  with  a  plump  elderly  woman,  who 
is  homely  and  domestic  to  the  last  degree,  that  you  should  play  the 
pining  lack-a-daisical  youth,  who,  as  somebody  says,  '  sighs  like  an 
oven,  and  makes  songs  on  his  mistress's  tears,' — that,  I  say,  I  can  only 
look  upon  as  a  sort  of  disease  !  The  only  thing  that  could  excuse  you 
in  any  way,  and  put  you  in  a  poetical  fight,  would  be  the  Spanish 
Infanta  in  the  '  Physician  of  his  Honour,'*  who,  meeting  a  fate  simi- 
lar to  yours,  fell  upon  his  nose  before  Donna  Menzia's  gate,  and  at 
last  found  the  beloved  one,  who  unconsciously — " 

"  Stop  !"  interrupted  Victor,  "  stop  !  Don't  you  think  that  I  see 
clearly  enough,  that  you  take  me  for  a  silly  dolt?  No,  no,  there  is 
something  else  —  something  more  mysterious  at  work.  Let  us 
drink  !"  > 

The  wine,  and  Albert's  lively  talk,  had  produced  a  wholesome 
excitement  in  Victor,  who  seemed  aroused  from  a  gloomy  dream. 
But  when,  at  last,  Albert,  raising  his  full  glass,  said,  if  Now,  Vic- 
tor, my  dear  Infanta,  here's  a  health  to  Donna  Menzia,  and  may  she 
look  like  our  little  pet  hostess." — Victor  cried,  laughing,  "  No,  no, 
I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  take  me  for  a  fool.  I  feel  quite 
cheerful,  and  ready  to  make  a  confession  to  you  of  every  thing ! 
You  must,  however,  submit  to  hear  an  entire  youthful  period  of 
my  life,  and  it  is  possible  that  half  the  night  will  be  taken  up  by 
the  narrative." 

"  Begin !"  replied  Albert,  "  for  I  see  we  have  enough  wine  to  cheer 
up  our  somewhat  sinking  spirits.  I  only  wish  it  was  not  so  confound- 
edly cold,  nor  a  crime  to  wake  up  the  good  folks  of  the  house." 

*  Calderon's  "  Medico  de  su  honra," 


278  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Victor,  "  Paul  Talkebarth  mav  have  made  some 
provision."  And,  indeed,  the  said  Paul,  cursing  in  his  well-known 
French  dialect,  courteously  assured  them,  that  he  had  cut  small  and 
kept  excellent  wood  for  firing,  which  he  was  ready  to  kindle  at 
once.  "  Fortunately,"  said  Victor,  "  the  same  thing  cannot  happen 
to  me  here,  that  happened  at  a  drysalter's  at  Meaux,  where 
honest  Paul  lit  me  a  fire  that  cost,  at  least,  1200  francs.  The 
good  fellow  had  got  hold  of  Brazilian  sandal- wood,  hacked  it  to 
pieces,  and  put  it  on  the  hearth,  so  that  I  looked  almost  like  An- 
dolosia,  the  famous  son  of  the  celebrated  Fortunatus,  whose  cook 
had  to  light  a  fire  of  spices,  because  the  king  forbade  him  to  buy 
wood.  You  know,"  continued  Victor,  as  the  fire  merrily  crackled  and 
flamed  up,  and  Paul  Talkebarth  had  left  the  room,  "  you  know, 
my  dear  friend.  Albert,  that  I  began  my  military  career  in  the 
guards,  at  Potsdam ;  indeed,  that  is  nearly  all  you  know  of  my 
younger  days,  because  I  never  had  a  special  opportunity  to  talk 
about  them — nr>rl1  still  mnrp,  W,ause  the"  picture  of  those  years  has 
"harm  rpprpspntp.fi  to  my  soul  in  dim  outlines,  and  did  not,  until  I 
r.nmp  ]iprp.  flame  up  again,  in  bright  colours.  My  first  education,  in 
my  father's  house,  does  not  even  deserve  the  name  of  a  bad  one.  I 
had,  in  fact,  no  education  at  all,  but  was  left  entirely  to  my  own  in- 
clinations, and  these  indicated  any  thing  rather  than  a  call  to  the 
profession  of  arms.  I  felt  manifestly  impelled  towards  a  scientific 
culture,  which  the  old  magister,  who  was  my  appointed  tutor,  and 
who  only  liked  to  be  left  in  quiet,  could  not  give  me.  At  Potsdam 
I  gained  with  facility  a  knowledge  of  modern  languages,  while  I 
zealously  and  successfully  pursued  those  studies  that  are  requisite  for 
an  officer.  I  read,  besides,  with  a  kind  of  mania,  all  that  fell  into 
my  hands,  without  selection  or  regard  to  utility;  however,  as  my 
memory  was  excellent,  I  had  acquired  a  mass  of  historical  knowledge, 
I  scarcely  knew  how.  People  have  since  done  me  the  honour  to  as- 
sure me  that  a  poetical  spirit  dwelled  in  me,  which  I  myself  would 
not  rightly  appreciate.  Certain  it  is  that  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  the 
great  poets,  of  that  period,  raised  me  to  a  state  of  inspiration  of 
which  I  had  previously  no  notion.  I  appeared  to  myself  as  another 
being,  developed  for  the  first  time  into  active  life.  I  will  only  name 
the  '  Sorrows  of  Werther,'  and,  more  especially,  Schiller's  '  Kobbers.' 
My  fancy  received  an  impulse  quite  of  a  different  sort  from  a 
book,  which,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  not  finished,  gives  the 
mind  an  impetus  that  keeps  it  swinging  like  a  pendulum  in  constant 
motion.  I  mean  Schiller's  '  Ghostseer.'  It  may  be  that  the  incli- 
nation to  the  mystical  and  marvellous,  which  is  generally  deep-rooted 
in  human  nature,  was  particularly  prevalent  in  me; — whatever  was 
the  cause,  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  say  that,  when  I  read  that  book, 
which  seems  to  contain  the  exorcising  formula}  belonging  to  the 
mightiest  black  art,  a  magical  kingdom,  full  of  super-terrestrial,  or, 
rather,  sub-terrestrial  marvels,  was  opened  to  me,  in  which  I  moved 
about  as  a  dreamer.  Once  given  to  this  mood,  I  eagerly  swallowed 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  279 

all  that  would  accord  with  it,  and  even  works  of  far  less  worth  did 
not  fail  in  their  effect  upon  me.  Thus  the  '  Genius,'  by  Grosse,  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  me,  and  I  have  the  less  reason  to  feel  ashamed 
of  this,  since  the  first  part,  at  least,  on  account  of  the  liveliness  of 
the  style  and  the  clear  treatment  of  the  subject,  produced  a  sensation 
through  the  whole  literary  world.  Many  an  arrest  I  was  obliged  to 
endure,  when  upon  guard,  for  being  absorbed  in  such  a  book,  or  per- 
haps only  in  mystic  dreams,  I  did  not  hear  the  call,  and  was  forced 
to  be  fetched  by  the  inferior  officer.  Just  at  this  time  chance  made 
me  acquainted  with  a  very  extraordinary  man.  It  happened  on  a 
fine  summer  evening,  when  the  sun  had  already  sunk,  and  twilight 
had  already  begun,  that,  according  to  my  custom,  I  was  walking 
alone  in  a  pleasure  ground  near  Potsdam.  I  fancied  that,  from  the 
thicket  of  a  little  wood,  which  lay  by  the  road-side,  I  could  hear 
plaintive  sounds,  and  some  words  uttered  with  energy  in  a  language 
unknown  to  me.  I  thought  some  one  wanted  assistance,  so  I  has- 
tened to  the  spot  whence  the  sounds  seemed  to  proceed,  and  soon,  in 
the  red  glimmer  of  the  evening,  discovered  a  large,  broad-shouldered 
figure,  enveloped  in  a  common  military  mantle,  and  stretched  upon 
the  ground.  Approaching  nearer  I  recognised,  to  my  astonishment, 
Major  O'Malley  of  the  grenadiers.  '  Good  heavens !'  I  exclaimed, 
4  is  this  you,  major?  In  this  situation?  Are  you  ill?  Can  I  help 
you?'  The  major  looked  at  me  with  a  fixed,  wild  stare,  and  then 
said,  in  a  harsh  voice,  '  What  the  devil  brings  you  here,  lieutenant? 
What  does  it  matter  to  you  whether  I  lie  here  or  not?  Go  back  to 
the  town !'  Nevertheless,  the  deadly  paleness  of  O'Malley's  face  made 
me  suspect  that  there  was  something  wrong,  and  I  declared  that  I 
would  not  leave  him,  but  would  only  return  to  the  town  in  his  com- 
pany. '  Good !'  said  the  major,  quite  coldly  and  deliberately,  after 
he  had  remained  silent  for  some  moments,  and  had  endeavoured  to 
raise  himself,  in  which  attempt,  as  it  appeared  to  be  attended  with 
difficulty,  I  assisted  him.  I  perceived  now  that — as  was  frequently 
the  case  when  he  went  out  in  the  evening — he  had  nothing  but  a 
shirt  under  the  cloak,  which  was  a  common  commis-mantel  as  they 
call  it,  that  he  had  put  on  his  boots,  and  that  he  wore  upon  his 
bald  head  his  officer's  hat,  with  broad  gold  lace.  A  pistol,  which 
ky  on  the  ground  near  him,  he  caught  up  hastily,  and,  to  conceal  it 
from  me,  put  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  cloak.  During  the  whole  way 
to  the  town  he  did  not  speak  a  syllable  to  me,  but  now  and  then  ut- 
tered disjointed  phrases  in  his  own  language — he  was  an  Irishman 
by  birth — which  I  did  not  understand.  When  he  had  reached  his 
quarters  he  pressed  my  hand,  and  said,  in  a  tone  in  which  there  was 
something  indescribable — something  that  had  never  been  heard  be- 
fore, and  which  still  echoes  in  my  soul :  *  Good  night,  lieutenant ! 
Heaven  guard  you,  and  give  you  good  dreams!'  This  Major 
O'Malley  was  one  of  the  strangest  men  possible,  and  if,  perhaps,  I 
except  a  few  somewhat  eccentric  Englishmen,  whom  I  have  met,  I 
know  no  officer  in  the  whole  great  army  to  compare  in  outward  ap- 

u 


280  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

pearance  with  O'Malley.  If  it  be  true — as  some  travellers  affirm — that 
nature  nowhere  produces  such  peculiarities  as  in  Ireland,  and  that, 
therefore,  every  family  can  exhibit  the  prettiest  cabinet  pictures, 
Major  O'Malley  would  justly  serve  as  a  prototype  for  all  his  nation. 
Imagine  a  man  strong  as  a  tree,  six  feet  high,  whose  build  could 
scarcely  be  called  awkward,  but  none  of  whose  limbs  fitted  the  rest, 
so  that  his  whole  figure  seemed  huddled  together,  as  in  that  game 
where  figures  are  composed  of  single  parts,  the  numbers  on  which 
are  decided  by  the  throw  of  the  dice.  An  aquiline  nose,  and  de- 
licately formed  lips  would  have  given  a  noble  appearance  to  his  coun- 
tenance, but  his  prominent  glassy  eyes  were  almost  repulsive,  and  his 
black  bushy  eyebrows  had  the  character  of  a  comic  mask.  Strangely 
enough  there  was  something  lachrymose  in  the  major's  face  when- 
ever he  laughed,  which,  by  the  way,  seldom  happened,  while  he 
seemed  to  laugh  whenever  the  wildest  passion  mastered  him,  and  in 
this  laugh  there  was  something  so  terrific,  that  the  oldest  and  most 
stout-hearted  fellows  would  shudder  at  it.  But,  however,  seldom  as 
Major  O'Malley  laughed,  it  was  just  as  seldom  that  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  carried  away  by  passion.  That  the  major  should  ever  have 
an  uniform  to  fit  him  seemed  an  utter  impossibility.  The  best  tailors 
in  the  regiment  failed  utterly  when  they  applied  their  art  to  the 
formless  figure  of  the  major;  his  coat,  though  cut  according  to  the 
most  accurate  measure,  fell  into  unseemly  folds,  and  hung  on  his  body 
as  if  placed  there  to  be  brushed,  while  his  sword  dangled  against  his 
legs,  and  his  hat  sat  upon  his  head  in  such  a  queer  fashion  that  the 
military  schismatic  might  be  recognised  a  hundred  paces  off.  A 
thing  quite  unheard  of  in  those  days  in  which  there  was  so  much 
pedantry  in  matters  of  form — O'Malley  wore  no  tail !  To  be  sure 
a  tail  could  scarcely  have  been  fastened  to  the  few  gray  locks  that 
curled  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and,  with  the  exception  of  these,  he 
was  perfectly  bald.  When  the  major  rode,  people  expected  every 
moment  to  see  him  tumble  from  his  horse,  when  he  fought  they  ex- 
pected to  see  him  beaten ;  and  yet  he  was  the  very  best  rider  and 
fencer, — in  a  word,  the  very  best  Gymnastikcr  that  could  exist. 

"  This  will  suffice  to  give  you  the  picture  of  a  man,  whose  whole 
mode  of  life  might  be  called  mysterious,  as  he  now  threw  away  large 
sums,  now  seemed  in  want  of  assistance,  and  removed  from  all  the  con- 
trol of  superiors,  and  every  restraint  of  service,  could  do  exactly  as  he 
liked.  And  even  that  which  he  did  like  was  so  eccentric,  or  rather 
so  splenetically  mad,  that  one  felt  uneasy  about  his  sanity.  They  said 
that  the  major,  at  a  certain  period,  when  Potsdam  and  its  environs 
was  the  scene  of  a  strange  mystification,  that  even  found  a  place  in 
the  history  of  the  day,  had  played  an  important  part,  and  still  stood 
in  certain  relations,  which  caused  the  incomprehensibility  of  his 
position.  A  book  of  very  ill-repute,  which  appeared  at  the  time — 
it  was  called  '  Excorporations,'  if  I  mistake  not, — and  which  con- 
tained the  portrait  of  a  man  very  like  the  major,  increased  that  be- 
lief, and  I,  struck  by  the  mysterious  contents  of  this  book,  felt  the 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  281 

more  inclined  to  consider  O'Malley  a  sort  of  Arminian,  the  more  I 
observed  his  chimerical,  I  may  almost  say  supernatural  proceedings. 
He  himself  gave  me  additional  opportunity  to  make  such  observations, 
for  since  the  evening  on  which  I  found  him  ill,  or  otherwise  over- 
come, in  the  wood,  he  had  taken  an  especial  fancy  to  me,  so  that  it 
seemed  absolutely  necessary  for  him  to  see  me  every  day.  To  de- 
scribe to  you  the  whole  peculiarity  of  this  intercourse  with  the 
major,  to  tell  you  a  great  deal  that  seemed  to  confirm  the  judgment 
of  the  men,  who  boldly  maintained  that  he  had  second-sight,  and 
was  in  compact  with  the  devil,  would  be  superfluous,  as  you  will 
soon  have  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  awful  spirit  that  was  destined 
to  disturb  the  peace  of  my  life. 

"  I  was  on  guard  at  the  castle,  and  there  received  a  visit  from  my 

cousin,  Captain  von  T ,  who  had  come  with  a  young  officer  from 

Berlin  to  Potsdam.  We  were  indulging  in  friendly  converse  over 
our  wine,  when,  towards  midnight,  Major  O'Malley  entered.  '  I 
thought  to  find  you  alone,  lieutenant,'  said  he,  casting  glances  of  dis- 
pleasure at  my  guests,  and  he  wished  to  depart  at  once.  The  cap- 
tain then  reminded  him  that  they  were  old  acquaintance,  and  at  my 
request  he  consented  to  remain. 

"  '  Your  wine/  exclaimed  O'Malley,  as  he  tossed  down  a  bumper, 
after  his  usual  manner;  *  your  wine,  lieutenant,  is  the  vilest  stuff 
that  ever  tortured  an  honest  fellow's  bowels.  Let  us  see  if  this  is  of 
a  better  sort.' 

"  He  then  took  a  bottle  from  the  pocket  of  the  cloak  which  he 
had  drawn  over  his  shirt,  and  filled  the  glasses.  We  pronounced 
the  wine  excellent,  and  considered  it  to  be  very  fiery  Hungarian. 

"  Somehow  or  other,  I  cannot  say  how,  conversation  turned  upon 
magical  operations,  and  particularly  upon  the  book  of  ill  report,  to 
which  I  have  already  alluded.  The  captain,  especially  when  he  had 
drunk  wine,  had  a  certain  scoffing  tone,  which  every  one  could  not 
endure,  and  in  this  tone  he  began  to  talk  about  military  exorcisors 
and  wizards,  who  had  done  very  pretty  things  at  that  time,  so 
that  even  at  the  present  time  people  revered  their  power,  and  made 
offerings  to  it.  '  Whom  do  you  mean?'  cried  O'Malley,  in  a 
threatening  tone;  '  whom  do  you  mean,  captain?  If  you  mean  me, 
we  will  put  the  subject  of  raising  spirits  aside ;  I  can  show  you  that 
I  understand  the  art  of  conjuring  the  soul  out  of  the  body,  and  for 
that  art  I  require^  no  talisman  but  my  sword  or  a  good  pistol- 
barrel.' 

"  There  was  nothing  the  captain  desired  less  than  a  quarrel  with 
O'Malley.  He  therefore  gave  a  neat  turn  to  the  subject,  asserting 
that  he  did  indeed  mean  the  major,  but  intended  nothing  but  a  jest, 
which  was,  perhaps,  an  ill-timed  one.  Now,  however,  he  would  ask 
the  major  in  earnest,  whether  he  would  not  do  well  by  contradicting 
the  silly  rumour,  that  he  commanded  mysterious  powers,  and  thus, 
in  his  own  person,  check  the  foolish  superstition,  which  by  no 
means  accorded  with  an  age  so  enlightened.  The  major  leaned  com- 

U2 


282  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

pletcly  across  the  table,  rested  liis  head  on  both  his  fists,  so  that  his 
nose  was  scarcely  a  span  removed  from  the  captain's  face,  and  then 
said  very  calmly,  staring  at  him  with  his  prominent  eyes:  '  Even, 
friend,  if  Heaven  has  not  blessed  you  with  a  very  penetrating  in- 
tellect, I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  see,  that  it  is  the  silliest  conceit, 
nay,  I  may  say,  the  most  atrocious  presumption  to  believe  that 
with  our  own  spiritual  existence  every  thing  is  concluded,  and  that 
there  are  no  spiritual  beings,  which,  differently  endowed  from  our- 
selves, often  from  their  own  nature  alone,  make  themselves  temporary 
forms,  manifest  themselves  in  space  and  time,  and  further,  aiming 
at  a  sort  of  reaction,  can  take  refuge  in  the  mass  of  clay,  which  we 
call  a  body.  I  do  not  reproach  you,  captain,  for  not  having  read,  and 
for  being  ignorant  of  every  thing  that  cannot  be  learned  at  a  review 
or  on  parade,  but  this  I  will  tell  you,  that  if  you  had  peeped  now 
and  then  into  clever  books,  and  knew  Cardanus,  Justin  Martyr, 
Lactantius,  Cyprian,  Clement  of  Alexandria,  Macrobius,  Trisme- 
gistus,Nollius,  Dorneus,Theophrastus,  Fludd, William  Postel,  Miran- 
dola;  nay,  even  the  cabalistic  Jews,  Josephus  and  Philo,  you  might 
have  had  an  inkling  of  things  which  are  at  present  above  your 
horizon,  and  of  which  you  therefore  have  no  right  to  talk.' 

"  With  these  words  O'Malley  sprang  up,  and  walked  up  and  down 
with  heavy  steps,  so  that  the  windows  and  glasses  vibrated. 

"  The  captain,  somewhat  astonished,  assured  the  major,  that 
although  he  had  the  highest  esteem  for  his  learning,  and  did  not 
wish  to  deny  that  there  were,  nay,  must  be,  higher  spiritual  natures, 
he  was  firmly  convinced  that  any  communication  with  an  unknown 
spiritual  world  was  contrary  to  the  very  conditions  of  humanity, 
and  therefore  impossible,  and  that  any  thing  advanced  as  a  proof  of 
the  contrary,  was  based  on  self-delusion  or  imposture. 

"  After  the  captain  had  been  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  O'Malley 
suddenly  stood  still,  and  began,  '  Captain,  or,' — turning  to  me, — 
'  lieutenant,  do  me  the  favour  to  sit  down  and  write  an  epic  as 
noble  and  as  superhumanly  great  as  the  Iliad.' 

"  We  both  answered,  that  neither  of  us  would  succeed,  as  neither 
of  us  had  the  Homeric  genius.  '  Ha !  ha !'  cried  the  major,  '  mark 
that,  captain !  Because  your  mind  is  incapable  of  conceiving  and 
bringing  forth  the  divine ;  nay,  because  your  nature  is  not  so  con- 
stituted, that  it  can  even  kindle  into  the  knowledge  of  it,  you  pre- 
sume to  deny  that  such  things  arc  possible  with  any  one.  I  tell 
you,  the  intercourse  with  higher  spiritual  natures  depends  on  a  par- 
ticular psychic  organisation.  That  organisation,  like  the  creative 
power  of  poetry,  is  a  gift  which  the  spirit  of  the  universe  bestows 
upon  its  favourites.' 

"  I  read  in  the  captain's  face,  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  making 
some  satirical  reply  to  the  major.  To  stop  this,  I  took  up  the  con- 
versation myself,  and  remarked  to  the  major  that,  as  far  as  I  had 
any  knowledge  of  the  subject,  the  cabalists  prescribed  certain  rules 
and  forms,  that  intercourse  with  unknown  spiritual  beings  might  be 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  283 

attained.  Before  the  major  could  reply,  the  captain,  who  was 
heated  with  wine,  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  said  bitterly,  '  What  is 
the  use  of  all  this  talking?  You  give  yourself  out  as  a  superior 
being,  major,  and  want  to  believe,  that  because  you  are  made  of 
better  stuff  than  any  of  us,  you  command  spirits  !  You  must  allow 
me  to  believe  that  you  are  nothing  but  a  besotted  dreamer,  until 
you  give  us  some  ocular  demonstration  of  your  psychic  power.' 

"  The  major  laughed  wildly,  and  said,  '  So,  captain,  you  take  me 
for  a  common  necromancer,  a  miserable  juggler,  do  you?  That 
accords  with  your  limited  view  !  However,  you  shall  be  permitted 
to  take  a  peep  into  a  dark  region  of  which  you  have  no  notion,  and 
which  may,  perhaps,  have  a  destructive  effect  upon  you.  I  warn 
you  against  it,  and  would  have  you  reflect,  that  your  mind  may  not 
be  strong  enough  to  bear  many  things,  which  to  me  would  be  no 
more  than  agreeable  pastime.' 

"The  captain  protested  that  he  was  quite  ready  to  cope  with 
all  the  spirits  and  devils  that  O'Malley  could  raise,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  give  our  word  of  honour  to  the  major  that  we  would 
meet  him  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  at 
the  inn  near  the gate,  when  we  should  learn  more. 

"In  the  meanwhile  it  had  become  clear  daylight;  the  sun 
was  shining  through  the  window.  The  major  then  placed  himself 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  cried  with  a  voice  of  thunder,  '  In- 
cubus !  Incubus !  Nehmahmihah  Scedim !'  He  then  threw  off  his 
cloak,  which  he  had  not  yet  laid  aside,  and  stood  in  full  uniform. 

"  At  that  moment  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the  room  as  the  guard 
was  getting  under  arms.  When  I  returned,  the  major  and  the  cap- 
tain had  both  vanished. 

"  '  I  only  stayed  behind,'  said  the  young  officer,  a  good,  amiable 
youth,  whom  I  found  alone. — *  I  only  stayed  behind  to  warn  you 
against  this  major,  this  fearful  man !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
his  fearful  secrets,  and  I  only  regret  that  I  have  given  my  word  to  be 
present  at  a  deed,  which  will  be  destructive,  perhaps,  to  us  all,  and 
certainly  to  the  captain.  You  may  depend  upon  it  that  I  am  not 
inclined  to  believe  in  the  tales  that  old  nurses  tell  to  children  ;  but 
did  you  observe  that  the  major  successively  took  eight  bottles  from 
his  pocket,  that  seemed  scarcely  large  enough  to  hold  one? — that 
at  last,  although  he  wore  nothing  but  his  shirt  under  his  cloak,  he 
suddenly  stood  attired  by  invisible  hands?'  It  was,  indeed,  as  the 
lieutenant  had  said,  and  I  felt  an  icy  shudder  come  over  me. 

"  On  the  appointed  day  the  captain  called  upon  me  with  my 
young  friend,  and  at  the  stroke  of  ten  we  were  at  the  inn  as  we  had 
promised  the  major.  The  lieutenant  was  silent  and  reserved,  but 
the  captain  was  so  much  the  louder  and  in  high  spirits.  *  Indeed  I' 
he  cried,  when  it  was  already  half-past  ten,  and  no  O'Malley  had 
made  his  appearance,  *  indeed  I  believe  that  the  conjuror  has  left  us 
in  the  lurch  with  all  his  spirits  and  devils !'  '  That  he  has  not,' 
said  a  voice  close  behind  the  captain,  and  O'Malley  was  among  us 


284  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

without  any  one  having  seen  how  he   entered.     The  laugh,  into 
which  the  captain  was  about  to  break,  died  away. 

"  The  major,  who  was  dressed  as  usual  in  his  military  cloak,  thought 
that  there  was  time  to  drink  a  few  glasses  of  punch  before  he  took  us 
to  the  place  where  he  designed  to  fulfill  his  promise.  It  would  do 
us  good  as  the  night  was  cold  and  rough,  and  we  had  a  tolerably  long 
way  to  go.  We  sat  down  at  a  table,  011  which  the  major  had  laid 
some  links  bound  together,  and  a  book. 

"  '  Ho  ho !'  cried  the  captain,  e  this  is  your  conjuring  book  is  it, 
major?' 

"  '  Most  assuredly,'  replied  O'Malley,  drily. 

"  The  captain  seized  the  book,  opened  it,  and  at  that  moment 
laughed  so  immoderately,  that  we  did  not  know  what  could  have 
struck  him,  as  being  so  very  ridiculous. 

"  '  Come,'  said  he,  recovering  himself  with  difficulty,  '  come,  this 
is  too  bad !  What  the  devil,  major — oh,  you  want  to  play  your 
tricks  upon  us,  or  have  you  made  some  mistake  ?  Only  look  here, 
comrades !' 

"  You  may  conceive  our  astonishment,  friend  Albert,  when  we 
saw  that  the  book  which  the  captain  held  before  our  eyes,  was  no 
other  than  '  Peplier's  French  Grammar.'  O'Malley  took  the  book 
out  of  the  captain's  hand,  put  it  into  the  pocket  in  his  cloak,  and 
then  said  very  quietly — indeed  his  whole  demeanour  was  quiet  and 
milder  than  usual — '  It  must  be  very  immaterial  to  you,  captain,  of 
what  instruments  I  make  use  to  fulfill  my  promise,  which  only  binds  me 
to  give  you  a  sensible  demonstration  of  my  intercourse  with  the  world 
of  spirits  which  surrounds  us,  and  which,  in  fact,  comprises  the  condi- 
tion of  our  higher  being.  Do  you  think  that  my  power  requires  such 
paltry  crutches  as  especial  mystical  forms,  choice  of  a  particular  time, 
a  remote  awful  spot — things  which  paltry  cabalists  are  in  the  habit 
of  employing  for  their  useless  experiments?  In  the  open  market-place, 
at  every  hour,  I  could  show  you  my  power  ;  and  when,  after  you  had 
presumptuously  enough  challenged  me  to  enter  the  lists,  I  chose  a 
particular  time,  and,  as  you  will  perceive,  a  place  that  you  may  think 
rather  awful,  I  only  wished  to  show  a  civility  to  him,  who,  on  this 
occasion,  is  to  be  in  some  sort  your  guest.  One  likes  to  receive  guests 
in  one's  best  room,  and  at  the  most  suitable  hour.' 

"  It  struck  eleven,  the  major  took  up  the  torches,  and  desired  us 
to  follow  him. 

"  He  strode  so  quickly  along  the  high  road  that  we  had  a  diffi- 
culty in  following  him,  and  when  we  had  reached  the  toll-house, 
turned  into  a  footpath  on  the  right,  that  led  to  a  thick  wood  of  firs. 
After  we  had  run  for  nearly  an  hour,  the  major  stood  still,  and  told 
us  to  keep  close  behind  him,  as  we  might  otherwise  lose  ourselves  in 
the  thicket  of  the  wood  that  we  now  had  to  enter.  We  went  through 
the  densest  bushes,  so  that  one  or  the  other  of  us  was  constantly  caught 
by  the  uniform  or  the  sword,  so  as  to  extricate  himself  with  difficulty, 
until  at  last  we  came  to  an  open  space.  The  moonbeams  were  break- 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  285 

ing  through  the  dark  clouds,  and  I  perceived  the  ruins  of  a  large  build- 
ing, into  which  the  major  strode.  It  grew  darker  and  darker;  the  major 
desired  us  to  stand  still,  as  he  wished  to  conduct  every  one  of  us  down 
singly.  He  began  with  the  captain,  and  my  turn  came  next.  The 
major  clasped  me  round,  and  I  was  more  carried  by  him  than  I 
walked  into  the  depth.  '  Stop  here,'  whispered  the  major,  *  stop  here 
quietly  till  I  have  fetched  the  lieutenant,  then  my  work  shall  begin.' 
"  Amid  the  impenetrable  darkness  I  heard  the  breathing  of  a 
person  who  stood  close  by  me.  '  Is  that  you,  captain?'  I  exclaimed. 
*  Certainly  it  is/  replied  the  captain,  '  have  a  care,  cousin  ;  this  will 


all  end  in  foolish  jugglery,  but  it  is  a  cursed  place  to  which  the  major 
has  brought  us,  and  I  wish  we  were  sitting  at  a  bowl  of  punch,  for 
my  limbs  are  all  trembling  with  cold,  and,  if  you  will  have  it  so,  with 
a  certain  childish  apprehension.' 

"  It  was  no  better  with  me  than  with  the  captain.    The  boisterous 
autumn  wind  whistled  and  howled  through  the  walls,  and  a  strange 
groaning  and  whispering  answered  it  from  below.  Scared  night  birds 
swept  fluttering  by  us,  while  a  low  whining  noise  seemed  to  be  glid- 
ing away  close  to  the  ground.     Truly  both  the  captain  and  myself 
might  say  of  the  horrors  of  our  situation  the  same  thing  that  Cervantes 
says  of  Don  Quixote,  when  he  passes  the  portentous  night  before  the 
adventure  with  the  fulling-mills :  '  One  less  courageous  would  have 
lost  his  presence  of  mind  altogether.'      The  splashing  of  some  water 
in  the  vicinity,  and  the  barking  of  dogs,  showed  that  we  were  not  far 
from  the  leather-manufactory,  which  is  by  the  river  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Potsdam.     We  at  last  heard  some  dully  sounding  steps, 
which  became  nearer  and  nearer  until  the  major  cried  out  close  to 
us :   '  Now  we  are  together,  and  that  which  we  have  begun  can  be 
completed.'     By  means  of  a  chemical  fire-box  he  kindled  the  torches 
which  he  had  brought  with  him  and  stuck  them  in  the  ground.  They 
were  seven  in  number.     We  found  that  we  were  in  the  ruined  vault 
of  a  cellar.     O'Malley  ranged  us  in  a  half-circle,  threw  off  his  cloak 
and  shirt,  so  that  he  remained  naked  to  the  waist,  and  opening  the 
book  began  to  read  as  follows,  in  a  voice  that  more  resembled  the  dull 
roaring  of  a  distant  beast  of  prey  than  the  sound  of  a  human  being : 
*  Monsieur,  pretez  moi  un  peu,  s'il  vous  plait,  votre  canif. — Oui, 
Monsieur,  d'abord — le  viola,  je  vous  le  rendrai.'  " 

"  Come,"  said  Albert,  here  interrupting  his  friend,  "  this  is  in- 
deed too  bad  !  The  dialogue  '  On  writing,'  from  Peplier's  Grammar, 
as  a  formula  for  exorcism !  And  you  did  not  laugh  out  and  bring 
the  whole  thing  to  an  end  at  once  ?" 

"  I  am  now,"  continued  Victor,  "  coming  to  a  moment  which  I 
doubt  whether  I  shall  succeed  in  describing.  May  your  fancy  only 
give  animation  to  my  words !  The  major's  voice  grew  more  awful, 
while  the  wind  howled  more  loudly,  and  the  flickering  light  of  the 
torches  covered  the  walls  with  strange  forms,  that  changed  as  they 
flitted  by.  I  felt  the  cold  perspiration  dripping  on  my  forehead,  and 
forcibly  succeeded  in  preserving  my  presence  of  mind,  when  a 


286  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

cutting  tone  whistled  through  the  vault,  and  close  before  my  eyes 
stood  something " 

"How?"  cried  Albert.  "Something!  What  do  you  mean, 
Victor  ?  A  frightful  form  ?" 

"It  sounds  absurd,"  continued  Victor,  "to  talk  of  'a  formless 
form, 'but  I  can  find  no  other  word  to  express  the  hideous  something 
that  I  saw.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  at  that  moment  the  horror  of 
hell  thrust  its  pointed  ice-dagger  into  my  heart,  and  I  became  in- 
sensible. At  broad  mid-day  I  found  myself  undressed  and  lying 
upon  my  couch.  All  the  horrors  of  the  night  had  passed,  and  I 
felt  quite  well  and  easy.  My  young  friend,  the  lieutenant,  was 
asleep  in  the  arm-chair.  As  soon  as  I  stirred  he  awoke,  and  testified 
the  greatest  joy  at  finding  me  in  perfect  health.  From  him  I 
learned  that  as  soon  as  the  major  had  begun  his  gloomy  work,  he 
had  closed  his  eyes,  and  had  endeavoured  closely  to  follow  the  dia- 
logue from  Peplier's  Grammar,  without  regarding  any  thing  else. 
Notwithstanding  all  his  efforts,  a  fearful  apprehension,  hitherto  un- 
known, had  gained  the  mastery  over  him,  though  he  preserved  his 
consciousness.  The  frightful  whistle,  was,  he  said,  followed  by 
wild  laughter.  He  had  once  involuntarily  opened  his  eyes,  and  per- 
ceived the  major,  who  had  again  thrown  his  mantle  round  him,  and 
was  upon  the  point  of  taking  upon  his  shoulders  the  captain,  who 
lay  senseless  on  the  ground.  '  Take  care  of  your  friend,'  cried 
O'Malley  to  the  lieutenant,  and  giving  him  a  torch,  he  went  up  with 
the  captain.  The  lieutenant  then  spoke  to  me,  as  I  stood  there  im- 
moveable,  but  it  was  to  no  purpose.  I  seemed  quite  paralysed,  and 
he  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  bringing  me  into  the  open  air.  Sud- 
denly the  major  returned,  took  me  on  his  shoulders,  and  carried  me 
away  as  he  had  carried  the  captain  before.  But  what  was  the  hor- 
ror of  the  lieutenant,  when  on  leaving  the  wood,  he  saw  a  second 
O'Malley  who  was  carrying  the  captain  along  the  broad  path  !  How- 
ever, silently  praying  to  himself,  he  got  the  better  of  his  horror, 
and  followed  me,  firmly  resolved  not  to  quit  me,  happen  what 
might,  till  we  reached  my  quarters,  where  O'Malley  set  me  down  and 
left  me,  without  speaking  a  word.  With  the  help  of  my  servant, 
— who  even  then,  was  my  honest  Eulenspiegel,  Paul  Talkebarth; 
the  lieutenant  had  brought  me  into  my  room,  and  put  me  to  bed. 

"  Having  concluded  this  narrative,  my  young  friend  implored  me, 
in  the  most  touching  manner,  to  shun  all  association  with  the 
terrible  O'Malley.  The  physician,  who  had  been  called  in,  found  the 
captain  in  the  inn  by  the  gate,  where  we  had  assembled,  struck 
speechless  by  apoplexy.  He  recovered,  indeed,  but  remained  unfit 
for  the  service,  and  was  forced  to  quit  it.  The  major  had  vanished, 
having,  as  the  officers  said,  obtained  leave  of  absence.  I  was  glad 
that  I  did  not  see  him  again,  for  a  deep  indignation  had  mingled 
itself  with  the  horror  which  his  dark  mode  of  life  occasioned.  My 
cousin's  misfortune  was  the  work  of  O'Malley,  and  it  seemed  my 
duty  to  take  a  sanguinary  revenge. 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  287 

"  A  considerable  time  had  elapsed,  and  the  remembrance  of  that 
fatal  night  grew  faint.  The  occupations  required  by  the  service  over- 
came my  propensity  to  mystical  dreaming.  A  book  then  fell  into  my 
hands,  the  effect  of  which,  on  my  whole  being,  seemed  perfectly  in- 
explicable, even  to  myself.  I  mean  that  strange  story  of  Gazette's, 
which  is  known  in  a  German  translation  as  '  Teufel  Amor'  (The 
Devil  Love).  My  natural  bashfulness,  nay,  a  kind  of  childish 
timidity,  had  kept  me  from  the  society  of  ladies,  while  the  particular 
direction  of  my  mind  resisted  every  ebullition  of  rude  passion. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  was  a  sensual  tendency  revealed  in  me 
which  I  had  never  suspected.  My  pulse  beat  high,  a  consuming  fire 
coursed  through  nerves  and  veins,  as  I  went  through  those  scenes  of 
the  most  dangerous,  nay,  most  horrible  love,  which  the  poet  had  de- 
scribed in  the  most  glowing  colours.  I  saw,  I  heard,  I  was  sensible 
to  nothing  but  the  charming  Biondetta.  I  sank  under  the  pleasing 
torments,  like  Alvarez " 

"  Stop,  stop !"  interrupted  Albert,  "  I  have  no  very  clear  remem- 
brance of  Gazette's  '  Diable  Amoureux ;'  but,  so  far  as  I  recollect,  the 
whole  story  turns  upon  the  circumstance  that  a  young  officer  of  the 
guards,  in  the  service  of  the  King  of  Naples,  is  tempted  by  a  mys- 
tical comrade  to  raise  the  devil  in  the  ruins  of  Portici.  When  he 
has  uttered  the  formula  of  exorcism,  a  hideous  camel's  head,  with  a 
long  neck,  thrust  itself  towards  him  out  of  a  window,  and  cries,  in  a 
horrible  voice,  '  Che  vuoi.'  Alvarez — so  is  the  young  officer  named 
— commands  the  spectre  to  appear  in  the  shape  of  a  spaniel,  and 
then  in  that  of  a  page.  This  happens ;  but  the  page  soon  becomes  a 
most  charming,  amorous  girl,  and  completely  entangles  the  enchanter. 
How  Gazette's  pretty  story  concludes  has  quite  escaped  me." 

"  That  is  at  present  quite  immaterial,"  said  Victor;  "  but  you  will 
perhaps  be  reminded  of  it  by  the  conclusion  to  my  story.  Attribute 
it  to  my  propensity  to  the  wonderful,  and  also  to  something  mys- 
terious which  I  experienced,  that  Gazette's  tale  soon  appeared  to  me 
a  magic  mirror,  in  which  I  could  discern  my  own  fate.  Was  not 
O'Malley  to  me  that  mystical  Dutchman  who  decoyed  Alvarez  by 
his  arts? 

"  The  desire  which  glowed  in  my  heart,  of  achieving  the  terrible 
adventure  of  Alvarez,  filled  me  with  horror ;  but  even  this  horror 
made  me  tremble  with  unspeakable  delight,  such  as  I  had  never  be- 
fore known.  Often  did  a  wish  arise  within  me,  that  O'Malley 
would  return  and  place  in  my  arms  the  hell-birth,  to  which  my  en- 
tire self  was  abandoned,  and  I  could  not  kill  the  sinful  hope  and  deep 
abhorrence  which  again  darted  through  my  heart  like  a  dagger. 
The  strange  mood  produced  by  my  excited  condition  remained  a  mys- 
tery to  all ;  they  thought  I  suffered  from  some  morbid  state  of  mind, 
and  sought  to  cheer  me  and  dissipate  my  gloomy  thoughts.  Under 
the  pretext  of  some  service,  they  sent  me  to  the  Residence,  where 
the  most  brilliant  circle  was  open  to  me.  But  if  I  had  always  been 
shy  and  bashful,  society — especially  the  approach  of  ladies — now 


288  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

produced  in  me  absolute  repugnance.  The  most  charming  only 
seemed  to  scoff  at  Biondetta's  image  which  I  bore  within  me. 
When  I  returned  to  Potsdam,  I  shunned  all  association  with  my 
comrades,  and  my  favourite  abode  was  the  wood — the  scene  of  those 
frightful  events  that  had  nearly  cost  my  poor  cousin  his  life.  I 
stood  close  by  the  ruins,  and,  being  impelled  by  an  undefined  desire, 
was  on  the  point  of  making  my  way  in,  through  the  thick  brush- 
wood, when  I  suddenly  saw  O'Malley,  who  walked  slowly  out,  and 
did  not  seem  to  perceive  me.  My  long  repressed  anger  boiled  up 
instantly,  I  darted  upon  the  major,  and  told  him  in  few  words,  that 
he  must  fight  with  me  on  account  of  my  cousin.  '  Be  it  so  at  once,' 
said  the  major,  coldly  and  gravely,  and  he  threw  off  his  mantle, 
drew  his  sword,  and  at  the  very  first  pass  struck  mine  out  of  my 
hand  with  irresistible  force  and  dexterity.  '  We  will  fight  with 
pistols,'  cried  I,  wild  with  rage,  and  was  about  to  pick  up  my  sword, 
when  O'Malley  held  me  fast,  and  said,  in  a  calm  mild  tone,  such  as 
I  had  scarcely  ever  heard  from  him  before :  '  Do  not  be  a  fool,  my 
son  !  You  see  that  I  am  your  superior  in  fighting  ;  you  could  sooner 
wound  the  air  than  me,  and  I  could  never  prevail  on  myself  to  stand 
in  a  hostile  position  to  you,  to  whom  I  owe  my  life,  and  indeed 
something  more.'  The  major  then  took  me  by  the  arm,  and  gently 
drawing  me  along,  proved  to  me  that  the  captain  alone  had  been 
the  cause  of  his  own  misfortune,  since,  in  spite  of  every  warning,  he 
had  ventured  on  things  to  which  he  was  unequal,  and  had  forced 
the  major  to  do  what  he  did,  by  his  ill-timed  and  insulting  raillery. 
I  myself  cannot  tell  what  a  singular  magic  there  was  in  O'Malley 's 
words,  nay,  in  his  whole  manner.  He  not  only  succeeded  in  quieting 
me,  but  had  such  an  effect  upon  me,  that  I  involuntarily  revealed  to 
him  the  secret  of  my  internal  condition — of  the  destructive  warfare 
that  was  carried  on  within  my  soul.  '  The  particular  constellation,' 
said  O'Malley,  when  I  had  finished,  '  which  rules  over  you,  my  son, 
has  now  ordained  that  a  silly  book  should  make  you  attentive  to 
your  own  internal  being.  I  call  the  book  silly,  because  it  treats  of 
a  goblin  that  is  at  once  repulsive  and  without  character.  What 
you  ascribe  to  the  effect  of  these  licentious  images  of  the  poet,  is 
nothing  but  an  impulse  towards  an  union  with  a  spiritual  being  of 
another  region,  which  results  from  your  happily  constituted  orga- 
nisation. If  you  had  shown  more  confidence  in  me,  you  would 
have  been  on  a  higher  grade  long  ago.  However,  I  will  take  you 
as  my  scholar.'  O'Malley  now  began  to  make  me  acquainted  with 
the  nature  of  elementary  spirits.  I  understood  little  that  he  said, 
but  all  referred  to  the  doctrine  of  sylphs,  undines,  salamanders,  and 
gnomes,  such  as  you  may  find  in  the  dialogues  of  the  Comte  de 
Cabulis.  He  concluded  by  prescribing  me  a  particular  course  of  life, 
and  thought  that  in  the  course  of  a  year  I  might  obtain  my  Bion- 
detta,  who  would  certainly  not  do  me  the  wrong  of  changing  into 
the  incarnate  Satan  in  my  arms.  With  the  same  ardour  as  Alvarez, 
I  thought  that  I  should  die  of  impatience  in  so  long  a  time,  and 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  289 

would  venture  any  tiling  to  attain  my  end  sooner.  The  major  re- 
mained reflecting  in  silence  for  some  moments,  and  then  said :  '  It 
is  certain  that  an  elementary  spirit  is  seeking  your  good  graces. 
This  may  enable  you  to  obtain  that  in  a  short  time,  for  which  others 
strive  during  whole  years.  I  will  cast  your  horoscope.  Perhaps 
your  mistress  will  reveal  herself  to  me.  In  nine  days  you  shall  hear 
more.'  I  actually  counted  the  hours,  feeling  now  penetrated  by  a 
mysterious  delightful  hope,  and  now  as  if  I  had  involved  myself  in  a 
dangerous  affair.  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  ninth  clay,  the  major 
at  last  entered  my  room,  and  desired  me  to  follow  him.  *  Are  we 
to  go  to  the  ruins  ?'  I  asked.  '  Certainly  not,'  replied  O'Malley, 
smiling,  '  for  the  work  which  we  now  have  in  hand,  we  want  neither 
a  remote  awful  spot,  nor  a  terrible  exorcism  out  of  Peplier's  grammar. 
Besides,  my  incubus  can  have  no  part  in  to-day's  experiment,  which, 
properly  speaking,  you  undertake,  not  I.'  The  major  conducted  me 
to  his  quarters,  and  there  explained  to  me  that  the  matter  was  to  pro- 
cure something  by  means  of  which  my  own  self  might  be  opened  to  the 
elementary  spirit,  and  the  latter  might  have  the  power  of  revealing  it- 
self to  me  in  the  invisible  world,  and  holding  intercourse  with  me.  This 
something  was  what  the  Jewish  cabalists  called  '  Teraphim.'  He 
now  pushed  aside  a  bookcase,  opened  the  door  concealed  behind  it, 
and  we  entered  a  little  vaulted  cabinet,  in  which,  besides  all  sorts  of 
strange  unknown  utensils,  I  saw  a  complete  apparatus  for  chemical — 
or,  as  I  might  almost  believe — alchemical  experiments.  From  the 
glaring  charcoal  on  a  small  hearth  were  darting  forth  little  blue 
flames.  Before  this  hearth  I  had  to  sit  opposite  the  major,  and  to 
uncover  my  bosom.  I  had  no  sooner  done  this,  than  the  major, 
before  I  was  aware  of  it,  scratched  me  with  a  lancet  under  the  left 
breast,  and  caught  in  a  little  vial  the  few  drops  of  blood  that  flowed 
from  the  slight  wound,  which  I  could  scarcely  feel.  He  next  took 
a  bright  plate  of  metal,  polished  like  a  mirror,  poured  upon  it  first 
another  vial  that  contained  a  reddish  liquid,  and  afterwards  the  one 
filled  with  my  blood,  and  then  held  the  plate  close  over  the  char- 
coal fire.  I  was  seized  with  deep  horror,  when  I  thought  I  saw  a 
long,  pointed,  glaring  tongue  rise  serpent-like  upon  the  coals,  and 
greedily  lick  away  the  blood  from  the  metallic  mirror.  The  major 
now  told  me  to  look  into  the  fire  with  a  mind  firmly  fixed.  I  did  so, 
and  soon  I  seemed  to  behold,  as  in  a  dream,  a  number  of  confused 
forms,  flashing  through  one  another  on  the  metal,  which  the  major 
still  held  over  the  charcoal.  Suddenly,  I  felt  in  my  breast,  where 
the  major  had  scratched  my  skin,  such  a  strong,  piercing  pain,  that 
I  involuntarily  shrieked  aloud.  '  "Won  !  "Won  !'  cried  O'Malley  at 
that  instant,  and,  rising  from  his  seat,  he  placed  before  me  on  the 
hearth  a  little  doll,  about  two  inches  long,  into  which  the  metal 
seemed  to  have  formed  itself.  '  That/  said  the  major,  '  is  your 
Teraphim.  The  favours  of  the  elementary  spirit  towards  you  seem 
to  be  more  than  ordinary.  You  may  now  venture  on  the  utmost.' 
At  the  major's  bidding,  I  took  the  little  figure,  from  which,  though 


290  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

it  looked  red-hot,  only  a  genial  warmth  was  streaming,  pressed  it  to 
the  wound,  and  placed  myself  before  a  round  mirror,  from  which 
the  major  had  withdrawn  the  covering.  '  Force  your  wishes,'  said 
O'Malley,  *  to  the  greatest  intensity,  which  will  not  be  difficult,  as 
the  Teraphim  is  operating,  and  utter  in  the  sweetest  tone  of  which 

you  are  capable,  the  word .'     To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have 

forgotten  the  strange-sounding  word,  which  was  spoken  by  O'Mal- 
ley.    Scarcely  had  half  the  syllables  passed  my  lips,  than  an  ugly, 
madly-distorted  face  grinned  at  me  spitefully  from  the  mirror.     '  In 
the  name  of  all  the  devils,  whence  come  you,  you  accursed  dog?' 
yelled  O'Malley  behind  me.     I  turned  round,   and  saw  my  Paul 
Talkebarth,  who  was  standing  in  the  door- way,  and  whose  handsome 
face  was  reflected  in  the  magic  mirror.     The  major,  wild  with  rage, 
flew  at  honest  Paul ;  yet,  before  I  could  get  between  them,  O'Mal- 
ley stood   close   to   him,   perfectly  motionless,    and   Paul   availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  make  a  prolix  apology  ;  saying,  how 
he  had  looked  for  me,  how  he  had  found  the  door  open,  how  he 
had  walked  in,  &c.     *  Begone,  rascal,'  said  O'Malley  at  last,  in  a 
quieter  tone,  and  when  I  added,  '  Go,  good  Paul,  I  will  return  home 
directly;'  the  Eulenspiegel  departed  quite  terrified  and  confounded. 
"  I  had  held  the  doll  fast  in  my  hand,  and  O'Malley  assured  me, 
that  it  was  owing  to  this  circumstance  alone,  that  all  our  labour  had 
not  been  in  vain.     Talkebarth's  ill-timed  intrusion  had,  however, 
delayed  the  completion  of  the  work  for  a  long  time.     He  advised 
me  to  turn  off  that  faithful  servant,  but  this  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
do.     Moreover,  he  assured  me  that  the  elementary  spirit  which  had 
shown  me  such  favour,  was  nothing  less  than  a  salamander,  as  indeed, 
he  suspected,  when  he  cast  my  horoscope  and  found  that  Mars  stood 
in  the  first  house.     I  now  come  again  to  moments  of  which  you  can 
have  but  a  slight  notion,  as  words  are  incapable  of  describing  them. 
The  Devil  Amor,  Biondetta — all  was  forgotten  ;  I  thought  only  of 
my  Teraphim.     For  whole  hours  I  could  look  at  the  doll,  as  it  lay 
on  the  table  before  me,  and  the  glow  of  love  that  streamed  through 
my  veins  seemed  then,  like  the   heavenly  fire  of  Prometheus,;  to 
animate   the    little  figure  which  grew   up  as   in   ardent  longing. 
But   this   form  vanished  as  soon  as  I   had  thought  it,    and   the 
unspeakable  anguish  which  cut  through  my  heart,  was  associated 
with  a  strange  indignation,   that   impelled  me   to   fling  the  doll 
away  from  me  as  a  miserable  ridiculous  toy.     Yet  when  I  grasped 
it,  an  electric  shock  seemed  to  dart  through  all  my  limbs,  and  I 
felt  as  if  a  separation  from  the  talisman  of  love  would  annihilate 
me.     I  will  openly   confess   to  you   that  my   passion,    although 
the  proper  object  of  it  was  an  elementary  spirit,  was  directed  among 
all   sorts   of  equivocal   dreams  towards   objects   in   the  miserable 
world  that  surrounded  me,  so  that  my  excited  fancy  made  now  this, 
now  that  lady,  the  representative  of  the  coy  salamander  that  eluded 
my  embrace.      I  confessed  my  wrong,  indeed,  and  entreated   my 
little  mystery  to  pardon  my  infidelity ;  but  by  the  declining  power 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  291 

of  that  strange  crisis,  which  had  ordinarily  moved  my  inmost  soul 
with  glowing  love  ;  nay,  by  a  certain  unpleasant  void,  I  could  plainly 
feel  that  I  was  receding  from  my  object  rather  than  approaching  it. 
And  yet  the  passions  of  a  youth,  blooming  in  full  vigour,  seemed  to 
deride  my  mystery  and  my  repugnance.  I  trembled  at  the  slightest 
touch  of  a  charming  woman,  though  I  found  myself  red  with 
blushes.  Chance  conducted  me  again  to  the  Residence.  I  saw  the 

Countess  von  L ,  the  most  charming  woman,  and  the  greatest 

lover  of  conquests  that  then  shone  in  the  first  circles  of  Berlin.  She 
cast  her  glances  upon  me,  and  the  mood  in  which  I  then  was, 
naturally  rendered  it  very  easy  for  her  to  lure  me  completely 
into  her  toils.  Nay,  she  at  last  induced  me  to  reveal  my  whole  soul, 
without  reserve,  to  discover  my  secret,  and  even  to  show  her  the 
mysterious  image  that  I  wore  upon  my  breast." 

"  And,"  interrupted  Albert,  "  did  she  not  laugh  at  you  heartily, 
and  call  you  a  besotted  youth  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  continued  Victor;  "she  listened  to  me 
with  a  seriousness  which  she  had  not  shown  on  any  other  occasion, 
and  when  I  had  finished,  she  implored  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to 
renounce  the  diabolical  arts  of  the  infamous  O'Malley.  Taking  me 
by  both  my  hands,  and  looking  at  me  with  an  expression  of  the  ten- 
derest  love,  she  spoke  of  the  dark  practices  of  the  cabalistic  art  in  a 
manner  so  learned  and  so  profound,  that  I  was  not  a  little  surprised. 
But  my  astonishment  reached  the  highest  point,  when  she  called  the 
major  the  most  abandoned,  abominable  traitor,  for  trying  to  lure  me 
into  destruction  by  his  black  art,  when  I  had  saved  his  life.  Weary  of 
existence,  and  in  danger  of  being  crushed  to  the  earth  by  the  deepest 
ignominy,  O'Malley  was,  it  seems,  on  the  point  of  shooting  himself, 
when  I  stepped  in  and  prevented  the  suicide,  for  which  he  no  longer 
felt  any  inclination,  as  the  evil  that  oppressed  him  had  been  averted. 
The  countess  concluded  by  assuring  me,  that  if  the  major  had  plunged 
me  into  a  state  of  psychic  distemper,  she  would  save  me,  and  that 
the  first  step  to  that  end  would  consist  in  my  delivering  the  little 
image  into  her  hands.  This  I  did  readily,  for  thus  I  thought  I 
should,  in  the  most  beautiful  manner,  be  freed  from  a  useless  tor- 
ment. The  countess  would  not  have  been  what  she  really  was  had 
she  not  let  a  lover  pine  a  long  time  in  vain, — and  this  course  she 
pursued  with  me.  At  last,  however,  my  passion  was  to  be  requited. 
At  midnight  a  confidential  servant  waited  for  me  at  the  back  door 
of  the  palace,  and  led  me  through  distant  passages  into  an  apart- 
ment which  the  god  of  love  seemed  to  have  decorated.  There  I  was 
to  expect  the  countess.  Half  overcome  by  the  fumes  of  the  fine 
scents  that  wound  through  the  chamber,  trembling  with  love  and 
expectation,  I  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  room.  All  at  once  a  glance 
darted  through  my  soul  like  a  flash  of  lightning — " 

"  How  !"  cried  Albert,  "  a  glance,  and  no  eyes  !      And  you  saw 
nothing  ?     Another  formless  form  !" 

"You  may  find  it  incomprehensible,"  said  Victor,   "but  so  it 


292  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

was;  I  could  see  no  form — nothing,  and  yet  I  felt  tlie  glance  deep 
in  my  bosom,  and  a  sudden  pain  quivered  at  the  spot  which 
O'Malley  had  wound ed.  At  the  same  moment  I  perceived  upon 
the  chimney-piece  my  little  image,  grasped  it,  darted  from  the  room, 
commanded  the  terrified  servant,  with  a  threatening  gesture,  to  lead 
me  down,  ran  home,  awakened  my  man  Paul,  and  had  all  my  things 
packed  up.  At  the  earliest  hour  of  morning  I  was  already  on  my 
way  back  to  Potsdam.  I  had  passed  several  months  at  the  Residence , 
my  comrades  were  delighted  at  my  unexpected  return,  and  kept 
me  fast  the  whole  day,  so  that  I  did  not  return  to  my  quarters  till 
late  at  night.  I  placed  tliQ  darling  image  I  had  recovered  upon  the 
table,  and,  no  longer  able  tore  sist  the  effects  of  fatigue,  threw  myself 
on  my  couch  without  undressing.  Soon  a  dreamy  feeling  came 
over  me,  as  if  I  were  surrounded  by  a  beaming  light; — I  awoke; — I 
opened  my  eyes,  and  the  room  was  indeed  gleaming  with  magical 
radiance.  But — Oh,  Heavens  ! — on  the  same  table  on  which  I  had 
laid  the  doll,  I  perceived  a  female  figure,  who,  resting  her  head  on 
her  hand,  appeared  to  slumber.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  never 
dreamed  of  a  more  delicate  or  graceful  form — a  more  lovely  face. 
To  give  you  a  notion  in  words  of  the  strange  mysterious  magic, 
which  beamed  from  this  lovely  figure,  I  am  not  able.  She  wore  a 
silken  flame-coloured  dress,  which,  fitting  tight  to  the  waist  and 
bosom,  reached  only  to  the  ancles,  exhibiting  her  delicately  formed 
feet;  the  lovely  arms,  which  were  bare  to  the  shoulders,  and  seemed 
both  from  their  colour  and  form  to  have  been  breathed  by  Titian,  were 
adorned  with  bracelets ;  in  her  brown,  somewhat  reddish  hair,  a 
diamond  sparkled." 

"  Oh !"  said  Albert,  smiling,  "  thy  salamandrine  has  no  very 
exquisite  taste.  With  reddish  brown  hair,  she  dresses  in  flame- 
coloured  silk." 

"  Do  not  jest,"  continued  Victor,  "  do  not  jest.  I  repeat  to  you 
that  under  the  influence  of  a  mysterious  magic,  my  breath  was 
stopped.  At  last  a  deep  sigh  escaped  my  oppressed  bosom.  She 
then  opened  her  eyes,  raised  herself,  approached  me,  and  grasped 
my  hand.  All  the  glow  of  the  most  ardent  love  darted  like  a  flash 
of  lightning  through  my  soul,  when  she  gently  pressed  my  hand, 
and  whispered  with  the  sweetest  voice, — *  Yes,  thou  hast  con- 
quered— thou  art  my  ruler — I  am  thine  !'  'Oh,  thou  child  of  the 
Gods — thou  heavenly  being !'  I  cried  aloud ;  and  embracing  her,  I 
pressed  her  close  to  my  bosoin.  But  at  that  instant  the  creature 
melted  away  in  my  arms." 

"  How !"  said  Albert,  interrupting  his  friend,  "  in  Heaven's  name, 
melted  away  ?" 

"  Melted  away,"  continued  Victor,  "  in  my  arms.  In  no  other 
manner  can  I  describe  to  you  my  sensation  of  the  incomprehensible 
disappearance  of  that  lovely  being.  At  the  same  time  the  glittering 
light  was  extinguished,  and  I  fell,  I  do  not  know  how,  into  a  pro- 
found sleep.  When  I  awoke  I  held  the  doll  in  my  hand.  I  should 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  293 

weary  you  if  I  were  to  tell  you  more  of  my  strange  intercourse  with 
that  mysterious  being,  which  now  began  and  lasted  for  several  weeks, 
than  by  saying  that  the  visit  was  repeated  every  night  in  the  same 
manner.  Much  as  I  strove  against  it,  I  could  not  resist  the  dreamy 
situation  which  came  over  me,  and  from  which  the  lovely  being 
awoke  me  with  a  kiss.  She  remained  with  me  longer  and  longer 
on  every  occasion.  She  said  much  concerning  mysterious  things, 
but  I  listened  more  to  the  sweet  melody  of  her  voice,  than  to  the 
words  themselves.  Even  by  day-time  I  often  seemed  to  feel  the 
warm  breath  of  some  being  near  me ;  nay,  I  often  heard  a  whisper- 
ing, a  sighing  close  by  me  in  society,  especially  when  I  spoke  with 
any  lady,  so  that  all  my  thoughts  were  directed  to  my  lovely  myste- 
rious mistress,  and  I  was  dumb  and  lifeless  for  all  surrounding  ob- 
jects. It  once  happened  at  a  party  that  a  lady  bashfully  approached 
me  to  give  me  the  kiss  which  I  had  won  at  a  game  of  forfeits.  But 
when  I  bent  to  her  I  felt — before  my  lips  had  touched  hers — a  loud 
kiss  upon  my  mouth,  and  a  soft  voice  whispered  at  the  same  time, 
'  To  me  alone  do  your  kisses  belong.'  Both  I  and  the  lady  were 
somewhat  alarmed,  while  the  rest  of  the  party  thought  we  had 
kissed  in  reality.  This  kiss  I  held  to  be  a  sign  that  Aurora — so  I 
called  my  mysterious  mistress — would  now  for  good  and  all  take 
some  living  shape,  and  no  more  leave  me.  When  the  lovely  one  again 
appeared  to  me  on  the  following  night,  I  entreated  her  in  the  usual 
manner,  and  in  the  most  touching  words,  such  as  the  ardour  of  love 
inspired  to  complete  my  happiness,  and  to  be  mine  for  ever  in  a 
visible  form.  She  gently  extricated  herself  from  my  arms,  and  then 
said  with  mild  earnestness,  '  You  know  in  what  manner  you  became 
my  master.  My  happiest  wish  was  to  belong  to  you  entirely ;  but 
the  fetters  that  bind  me  to  the  throne  to  which  the  race,  of  which  I 
am  one,  is  subjected,  are  only  half-broken.  The  stronger,  the  more 
potent  your  sway,  so  much  the  freer  do  I  feel  from  tormenting 
slavery.  Our  intercourse  will  become  more  and  more  intimate,  and 
perhaps  the  goal  may  be  reached  before  a  year  has  elapsed.  Would 
you,  beloved,  anticipate  the  destiny  that  presides  over  us,  many  a 
sacrifice,  many  a  step,  apparently  doubtful,  might  be  necessary.' 
1  No !'  I  exclaimed,  '  for  me  nothing  will  be  a  sacrifice,  no  step 
will  appear  doubtful  to  obtain  thee  entirely.  I  cannot  live  longer 
without  thee,  I  am  dying  of  impatience — of  unspeakable  pain  !' 
Then  Aurora  embraced  me,  and  whispered  in  a  scarcely  audible 
voice,  '  Art  thou  happy  in  my  arms  ?'  '  There  is  no  other  happi- 
ness,' I  exclaimed,  and  glowing  with  love  even  to  madness,  I  pressed 
the  charming  creature  to  my  bosom.  I  felt  living  kisses  upon  my 
lips,  and  these  very  kisses  were  melodies  of  heaven,  through  which 
I  heard  the  words,  '  Couldst  thou,  to  possess  me,  renounce  the  happi- 
ness of  an  unknown  hereaftei  ?'  An  icy  cold  shudder  trembled 
through  me,  but  in  the  midst  of  this  shudder  passion  raged  still 
more  furiously,  and  I  cried  in  the  involuntary  madness  of  love, 
'  Without  thee  there  is  no  happiness ! — I  renounce — ' 


29-i  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

"  I  still  believe  that  I  stopped  here.  *  To-morrow  night  our  com- 
pact will  be  concluded,'  whispered  Aurora,  and  I  felt  that  she  was 
about  to  vanish  from  my  arms.  I  pressed  her  to  me  with  greater 
force,  she  seemed  to  struggle  in  vain,  when  suddenly — I  awoke  from 
deep  slumber,  thinking  of  the  Devil  Amor,  and  the  seductive 
Biondetta.  What  I  had  done  in  that  fatal  night  fell  heavily  upon 
my  soul.  I  thought  of  that  unholy  invocation  by  the  horrible 
O'Malley,  of  the  warnings  of  my  pious  young  friend.  I  believed  that 
I  was  in  the  toils  of  the  evil  one — that  I  was  lost.  Torn  to  the  very 
depth  of  my  soul,  I  sprang  up  and  hastened  into  the  open  air.  In  the 
street  I  was  met  by  the  major,  who  held  me  fast  while  he  said:  *  I 
congratulate  you,  lieutenant!  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  scarcely  gave 
you  credit  for  so  much  courage  and  resolution  ;  you  outstrip  your 
master.'  Glowing  with  rage  and  shame,  incapable  of  uttering  a 
single  word,  I  freed  myself  from  his  grasp  and  pursued  my  way. 
The  major  laughed  behind  me,  and  I  could  detect  the  scornful 
laughter  of  Satan.  In  the  road  near  those  fatal  ruins,  I  perceived  a 
veiled  female  form,  who,  lying  under  a  tree,  seemed  absorbed  in  a 
soliloquy.  I  approached  her  cautiously,  and  overheard  the  words : 
'  He  is  mine,  he  is  mine — Oh !  bliss  of  heaven !  Even  the  last 
trial  he  has  withstood.  If  men  are  capable  of  such  love,  what  is 
our  wretched  existence  without  it?'  You  may  guess  that  it  was 
Aurora  whom  I  found.  She  threw  back  her  veil,  and  love  itself 
cannot  be  more  charming.  The  delicate  paleness  of  her  cheeks, 
the  glance  that  was  sublimed  into  the  sweetest  melancholy,  made 
me  tremble  with  unspeakable  pleasure.  I  felt  ashamed  of  my 
dark  thoughts;  yet  at  the  very  moment  when  I  wished  to 
throw  myself  at  her  feet,  she  had  vanished  like  a  form  of  mist. 
At  the  same  time  I  heard  a  sound  in  the  hedges,  as  of  one 
clearing  one's  throat,  and  out  stepped  my  honest  Eulenspiegel,  Paul 
Talkebarth.  '  Whence  did  the  devil  bring  you,  fellow?'  I  began. 

"  '  No,  no,'  said  he,  with  that  queer  smile  which  you  know,  '  the 
devil  did  not  bring  me  here,  but  very  likely  he  met  me.  You  went 
out  so  early,  gracious  lieutenant,  and  had  forgotten  vour  pipe  and 
tobacco,  and  I  thought  so  early  in  the  morning,  in  the  damp  air — 
for  my  aunt  at  Genthin  used  to  say — ' 

" '  Hold  your  tongue,  prattle,  and  give  me  that,'  cried  I,  as  I 
made  him  hand  me  the  lighted  pipe.  Scarcely,  however,  had  we 
proceeded  a  few  paces,  than  Paul  began  again  very  softly,  '  My 
aunt  at  Genthin  used  to  say,  the  lloot-mannikin  (Wurzelmannlcin) 
was  not  to  be  trusted;  indeed,  such  a  chap  was  no  better  than  an 
incubus  or  a  chezim,  and  ended  by  breaking  one's  heart.  Old  cof- 
fee Lizzy  here  in  the  suburbs — ah,  gracious  sir,  you  should  only  see 
what  fine  flowers,  and  men,  and  animals  she  can  pour  out.  Man 
should  help  himself  as  he  can,  my  aunt  at  Genthin  used  to  say.  I 
was  yesterday  with  Lizzy  and  took  her  a  little  fine  mocha.  One  of 
us  has  a  heart  as  well  as  the  rest — Becker's  Dolly  is  a  pretty  thing, 
but  then  there  is  something  so  odd  about  her  eyes,  so  salamander- 
like' — 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  295 

"  '  What  is  that  you  say,  fellow?'  I  exclaimed,  hastily.  Paul 
was  silent,  but  began  again  in  a  few  seconds :  '  Yes,  Lizzy  is  a  good 
woman  after  all;  she  said,  after  she  had  looked  at  the  coffee  grounds, 
that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  Dolly,  and  that  the  salaman- 
der look  about  the  eyes  came  from  cracknel-baking  or  the  dancing- 
room  ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  she  advised  me  to  remain  single,  and 
told  me  that  a  certain  good  gentleman  was  in  great  danger.  These 
salamanders,  she  said,  are  the  worst  sort  of  things  that  the  devil 
employs  to  lure  a  poor  human  soul  to  destruction,  because  they 
have  certain  passions — ah,  one  must  only  stand  firm  and  keep  God 
in  one's  heart — then  I  myself  saw  in  the  coffee  grounds  Major 
O'Malley  quite  like  and  natural.' 

"  I  bid  the  fellow  hold  his  tongue,  but  you  may  conceive  the 
feelings  that  were  awakened  in  me  at  this  strange  discourse  of 
Paul's,  whom  I  suddenly  found  initiated  into  my  dark  secret,  and 
who  so  unexpectedly  displayed  a  knowledge  of  cabalistic  matters, 
for  which  he  was  probably  indebted  to  the  coffee-prophetess.  I 
passed  the  most  uneasy  day  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  Paul  was  not 
to  be  got  out  of  the  room  all  that  evening,  but  was  constantly  re- 
turning and  finding  something  to  do.  When  it  was  near  midnight, 
and  he  was  at  last  obliged  to  go,  he  said  softly,  as  if  praying  to 
himself:  '  Bear  God  in  thy  heart — think  of  the  salvation  of  thy 
soul — and  thou  wilt  resist  the  enticements  of  Satan/ 

"  I  cannot  describe  the  manner — I  may  almost  say,  the  fearful 
manner — in  which  my  soul  was  moved  at  these  simple  words  of  my 
servant.  All  my  endeavours  to  keep  myself  awake  were  in  vain.  I 
fell  into  that  state  of  confused  dreaming,  which  I  could  not  look  upon 
as  natural,  but  as  the  operation  of  some  foreign  principle.  The  ma- 
gical beaming  woke  me  as  usual.  Aurora  in  the  full  lustre  of  super- 
natural beauty,  stood  before  me,  and  passionately  stretched  her  arms 
towards  me.  Nevertheless,  Paul's  pious  words  shone  in  my  soul  as  if 
written  there  with  letters  of  fire.  *  Depart,  thou  seductive  birth  of 
hell !'  I  cried,  when  the  terrible  O'Malley,  now  of  a  gigantic  stature, 
rose  before  me,  and  piercing  me  with  eyes,  from  which  an  infernal 
fire  was  Hashing,  howled  out  :  '  Resist  not — poor  atom  of  humanity. 
Thou  hast  become  ours  !'  My  courage  could  have  withstood  the 
frightful  aspect  of  the  most  hideous  spectre,  but  I  lost  my  senses  at 
the  sight  of  O'Malley,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  A  loud  report  awoke  me  from  this  state  of  stupefaction.  I  felt 
myself  held  by  the  arms  of  a  man,  and  struggled  with  all  the  force  of 
despair,  to  free  myself.  '  Gracious  lieutenant,  it  is  I,'  said  a  voice  in 
my  ears.  It  was  honest  Paul  who  endeavoured  to  raise  me  from  the 
ground.  I  let  him  have  his  own  way.  He  would  not  at  first  tell 
me  plainly  how  all  had  happened,  but  he  at  last  assured  me,  with  a 
mysterious  smile,  that  he  knew  better  to  what  unholy  acquaintance 
the  major  had  lured  me,  than  I  could  suspect.  The  old  pious  Lizzy 
had  revealed  every  thing  to  him.  He  had  not  gone  to  sleep  the  night 
before,  but  had  well  loaded  his  gun,  and  had  watched  at  the  door. 

x 


296  THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT. 

When  lie  had  heard  me  cry  aloud  and  fall  to  the  ground,  he  had, 
although  his  courage  failed  him  a  little,  burst  open  the  door  and  en- 
tered. '  There,'  he  continued  in  his  mad  way,  '  there  stood  Major 
O'Malley  before  me,  as  frightful  to  look  upon  as  in  the  cup  of  coffee. 
He  grinned  at  me  hideously,  but  I  did  not  allow  myself  to  be  stirred 
from  my  purpose  and  said  :  '  If,  gracious  major,  you  are  the  devil, 
pardon  me  for  stepping  boldly  up  to  you  as  a  pious  Christian  and 
saying  to  you  :  *  Avaunt,  thou  cursed  Satan-Major,  I  command  thee 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  Begone,  or  I  will  fire  !'  The  major  would 
not  give  way,  but  kept  on  grinning  at  me,  and  began  to  abuse  me. 
I  then  cried,  '  Shall  I  fire  ? — shall  I  fire  T  and  when  he  persisted  in 
keeping  his  place  I  fired  in  reality.  But  all  had  vanished — both 
Major  Satan  and  Mam'sell  Belzebub  had  departed  through  the  wall  P 

"  The  continued  strain  upon  the  mind  during  the  period  that  had 
just  passed,  together  with  the  last  frightful  moments,  threw  me  upon 
a  tedious  sick-bed.  When  I  recovered  I  left  Postdam,  without  see- 
ing any  more  of  O'Malley,  whose  further  fate  has  remained  unknown 
to  me.  The  image  of  those  potentous  days  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  at  last  vanished  all  together,  so  that  I  recovered  perfect  free- 
dom of  mind,  until  here — " 

"Well,"  asked  Albert,  with  the  greatest  curiosity  and  astonishment, 
"do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  lost  your  freedom  again  here  ?  I 
cannot  conceive,  why  here — " 

"  Oh/'  said  Victor,  interrupting  his  friend,  while  his  tone  be- 
came somewhat  solemn,  "  I  can  explain  all  in  two  words.  In  the 
sleepless  nights  of  the  illness,  I  endured  here,  all  the  dreams  of  that 
noblest  and  most  terrible  period  of  my  life  were  revived.  It  was  my 
glowing  passion  itself,  that  assumed  a  form — Aurora — she  again  ap- 
peared to  me — glorified — purified  in  the  fire  of  Heaven  ; — no  devilish 
O'Malley  has  further  power  over  her — Aurora  is — the  baroness  !" 

"How  !  what  !"  cried  Albert,  shrinking  with  horror.  Then  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "  The  little  plump  housewife  with  the  great 
bunch  of  keys — she  an  elementary  spirit ! — she  a  salamander  !" — and 
he  felt  a  difficulty  in  suppressing  his  laughter. 

"  In  the  figure,"  continued  Victor,  "  there  is  no  longer  any  trace  of 
resemblance  to  be  found,  that  is  to  say,  in  ordinary  life ;  but  the  mys- 
terious fire  that  flashes  from  her  eyes, — the  pressure  of  her  hand." — 

"  You  have  been  very  ill,"  said  Albert,  gravely,  "  for  the  wound 
you  received  in  your  head  was  serious  enough  to  put  your  life  in 
peril  ;  but  now  I  find  you  are  so  far  recovered  that  you  will  be  able 
to  go  with  me.  From  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart  I  implore  you, 
my  dear, — my  beloved  friend,  to  leave  this  place,  and  accompany 
me  to-morrow  to  Aix-la-Chapelle." 

' '  I  certainly  do  not  intend  to  remain  here  any  longer,"  replied  Victor. 
"  so  I  will  go  with  you  ;  however,  let  this  matter  first  be  cleared  up."  ( 

The  next  morning,  when  Albert  woke,  Victor  told  him  that  a 
sinmge,  ghostly  sort  of  dream  had  revealed  to  him  the  mysterious 
word,  which  O'Malley  had  taught  him,  when  they  prepared  th( 
Teraphim.  He  thought  that  he  would  make  use  of  it  for  the  " 


THE  ELEMENTARY  SPIRIT.  297 

time.  Albert  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  and  caused  every  thing  to 
be  got  ready  for  a  speedy  departure,  while  Paul  Talkebarth  evinced 
the  most  joyful  activity  by  all  sorts  of  mad  expressions.  "  Zacker- 
mantho,"  he  muttered  to  himself  in  Albert's  hearing,  "  It  is  a  good 
thing  that  the  devil  Bear  fetched  the  Irish  devil  Foot  long  ago, 
otherwise  there  would  have  been  something  wrong  now." 

Victor,  as  he  had  wished,  found  the  baroness  alone  in  her  room, 
occupied  with  some  domestic  work.  He  told  her  that  he  was  now  at 
last  about  to  quit  the  house,  where  he  had  enjoyed  such  noble  hospi- 
tality. The  baroness  assured  him  that  she  had  never  entertained  a 
friend  more  dear  to  her.  Victor  then  took  her  hand,  and  asked  her 
if  she  were  ever  at  Postdam,  and  knew  a  certain  Irish  Major.  "  Vic- 
tor," said  the  baroness  interrupting  him  hastily,  "we  shall  part  to-day, 
we  shall  never  see  each  other  again  ;  nay,  we  must  not.  A  dark  veil 
hangs  over  my  life.  Let  it  suffice  if  I  tell  you  that  a  fearful  destiny 
condemns  me  always  to  appear  a  different  being  from  the  one  which 
I  really  am.  In  the  hateful  position  in  which  you  have  found  me, 
and  which  causes  me  spiritual  torments,  which  my  bodily  health  seems 
to  belie,  I  am  atoning  for  a  heavy  fault — yet  no  more — farewell !" 
Upon  this,  Victor  cried  with  a  loud  voice  :  "  Nehelmiahmiheal  !" 
and  the  baroness,  with  a  shriek  of  horror,  fell  senseless  to  the  ground. 
Victor  under  the  influence  of  a  storm  of  strange  feelings,  and  quite 
beside  himself  could  scarcely  summon  resolution  enough  to  ring  the 
bell.  However,  having  done  this,  he  rushed  from  the  chamber. 
"  At  once, — let  us  leave  at  once  !"  he  cried  to  his  friend,  and  told 
him  in  a  few  words  what  had  happened.  Both  leaped  upon  the 
horses  that  had  been  brought  for  them,  and  rode  off  without  waiting 
for  the  return  of  the  baron,  who  had  gone  out  hunting. 

Albert's  reflections  on  the  ride  from  Liege  to  Aix-la-Chapelle 
have  already  shown,  with  what  profound  earnestness,  with  what 
noble  feeling,  he  had  appreciated  the  events  of  that  fatal  period.  On 
the  journey  to  the  Residence,  whither  the  two  friends  now  returned, 
he  succeeded  in  completely  delivering  Victor  from  the  dreamy 
condition  into  which  he  had  sunk,  and  while  Albert  brought  to 
his  friend's  mind,  depicted  in  the  most  lively  colours,  all  the  monstrous 
occurrences  which  the  days  of  the  last  campaign  had  brought  forth, 
the  latter  felt  himself  animated  by  the  same  spirit  as  that  which  dwelt 
in  Albert.  And  although  Albert  never  ventured  upon  long  contra- 
dictions or  doubts,  Victor  himself  now  seemed  to  look  upon  his  mys- 
tical adventure,  as  nothing  but  a  bad  dream. 

In  the  Residence  it  was  natural  that  the  ladies  were  favourably 
disposed  to  the  colonel,  who  was  rich,  of  noble  figure,  young  for  the 
high  rank  which  he  held,  and  who,  moreover,  was  amiability  itself. 
Albert  looked  upon  him  as  a  lucky  man,  who  might  choose  the  fair- 
est for  a  wife,  but  Victor  observed,  very  seriously  :  "Whether  it 
was,  that  I  had  been  mystified,  and,  by  wicked  means,  made  to  serve 
some  unknown  end,  or  whether  an  evil  power  really  tried  to  tempt  me, 
this  much  is  certain,  that  though  the  past  has  not  cost  me  my  happi- 

x2 


298  SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

ness,  it  has  deprived  me  of  the  paradise  of  love.  Never  can  that  time 
return,  when  I  felt  the  highest  earthly  felicity,  when  the  ideal  of  my 
sweetest,  most  transporting  dreams,  nay,  love  itself,  was  in  my  arms. 
Love  and  pleasure  have  vanished,  since  a  horrible  mystery  deprived 
me  of  her,  who  to  my  inmost  heart  was  really  a  higher  being,  such 
as  I  shall  not  again  find  upon  earth  I" 

The  colonel  remained  unmarried.  J.  O. 


SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OE  MUSIC. 

A  CATHOLIC  LEGEND,  BY  HEINRICH  VON  KLEIST. 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  when  iconoclasm  was 
raging  in  the  Netherlands,  three  young  brothers,  who  all  studied  at 
Wittenberg,  chanced  to  meet  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  with  a  fourth,  who 
had  been  appointed  preacher  at  Antwerp.  They  wished  to  take  posses- 
sion of  an  inheritance,  which  had  fallen  to  them  by  the  death  of  an  old 
uncle,  perfectly  unknown  to  all  of  them,  and  had  turned  into  an  inn, 
because  no  one  was  on  the  spot  to  whom  they  could  apply.  After 
the  lapse  of  some  days,  which  they  had  passed  in  listening  to  the 
preacher's  accounts  of  the  remarkable  occurrences  that  had  taken 
place  in  the  Netherlands,  it  chanced  that  the  festival  of  Corpus 
Christi  was  just  about  to  be  solemnised  by  the  nuns  of  St.  Cecilia's 
convent,  which  then  stood  before  the  city  gates.  The  four  brothers 
heated  with  fanaticism,  youth,  and  the  example  of  the  Netherlands, 
determined  to  give  the  town  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  a  spectacle  of  image- 
breaking.  The  preacher,  who  had  been  more  than  once  at  the  head 
of  such  enterprises,  assembled  in  the  evening  preceding  the  festival  a 
number  of  young  tradesmen  and  students,  devoted  to  the  new  doc- 
trine, who  spent  the  night  in  eating  and  drinking  at  the  inn.  Day 
had  no  sooner  appeared  over  the  battlements  than  they  provided 
themselves  with  axes  and  all  sorts  of  instruments  of  destruction,  to 
begin  their  violent  work.  Exulting  with  delight,  they  agreed  upon 
a  signal  at  which  they  would  begin  to  knock  in  the  windows,  which 
were  painted  over  with  biblical  subjects,  and,  secure  of  finding  a 
great  number  of  followers  among  the  people,  they  betook  them- 
selves to  the  cathedral,  at  the  hour  when  the  bells  first  rang, 
with  the  determination  not  to  leave  one  stone  upon  another.  The 
abbess,  who,  as  early  as  daybreak,  had  been  informed  by  a  friend 
of  the  peril  in  which  the  convent  stood,  sent  several  times,  but 
always  in  vain,  to  the  imperial  officer  who  held  command  in  the 
town,  requesting  him  to  appoint  a  guard  for  the  protection  of  the 
convent.  The  officer,  who,  clandestinely  at  least,  was  favorably 
disposed  towards  the  new  doctrine,  refused  her  request,  under  the 


SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC.  299 

pretext  that  she  was  merely  dreaming,  and  that  not  the  slightest 
danger  to  her  convent  was   to  be  apprehended.     In  the  meanwhile 
the  hour  appointed  for  the  commencement  of  the  solemnities  arrived, 
and  the  nuns  prepared  themselves  for  mass,  praying  and  trembling 
with  the  apprehension  of  approaching  events.     The  bailiff  of  the 
convent,  an  old  man,  aged  seventy,  with  a  troop  of  armed  servants, 
whom  he  had  posted  at  the  entrance  of  the  church,  was  their  only 
protection.     In  nuns'  convents,  it  is  well  known,  the  sisters  them- 
selves, who  are  well  practised  in  every  sort  of  instrument,  are  their 
own  musicians,   and  they  play  with  a  precision,  a  feeling,  and  an 
intelligence,   which  we  often  miss  in  orchestras  of  men,  probably 
because  there  is  something  feminine  in  this  mysterious  art.     Now  it 
happened,  to  increase  the  embarrassment,  that  the  conductress  of  the 
orchestra,  Sister  Antonia,  had  fallen  sick  of  a  nervous  fever  some 
days  before,  and  the  consequence  was,  that  the  whole  convent  was 
in  the  greatest  tumult  about  the  performance  of  a  suitable  piece  of 
music,  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact  that  the  four  profane  brothers  were 
already  visible,  wrapped  in  mantles  among  the  pillars  of  the  church. 
The  abbess  who,  on  the  evening  of  the  preceding  day,  had  ordered 
the  performance  of  a  very  old  Italian  mass,  by  an  unknown  master, 
with  which  the  greatest  effect  had  always  been  produced  on  account 
of  its  peculiarly  sacred  and  solemn  character,  and  who  was  now  more 
than  ever  bent  on  her  purpose,  sent  again  to  sister  Antonia  to  know 
how  she  was.     The  nun  who  took  the  message,  returned  with  the  in- 
telligence that  the  sister  lay  in  a  perfectly  unconscious  condition  and 
that  all  notion  of  her  conducting  the  music  must  be  entirely  given  up. 
In  the  meanwhile,  there  had  already  been  several  very  critical  scenes 
in  the  convent  into  which  more  than  a  hundred  impious  persons  of 
all  ranks  and  ages,  armed  with  hatchets  and  crowbars,  had  gradually 
found  their  way.     Some  of  the  guards  who  stood  at  the  portals  had 
been  shamefully  annoyed,  and  the  nuns,  who,  engaged  in  their  holy 
offices,  had  from  time  to  time  appeared  singly  in  the  porticoes,  were 
insulted  by  the  most  unseemly  expressions.     At  last  the  bailiff  re- 
treated to  the  sacristy,  and  there  upon  his  knees  implored  the  abbess 
to  stop  the  festival,  and  to  seek  the  protection  of  the  commander  in 
the  city.     But  the  abbess  was  immoveable,  insisting  that  the  festival 
which  had  been  instituted  for  the  honour  of  the  Deity  must  take  its 
course.     She  reminded  the  bailiff  that  it  was  his  duty  to  defend  the 
mass,  and  all  the  solemnities  of  the  cathedral  with  life  and  limb,  and 
as  the  bell  had  rang,  ordered  the  nuns,  who  surrounded  her,  shaking 
and  trembling,  to  take  an  oratorium  of  some  sort  or  other,  and  make 
a  beginning  by  performing  it. 

The  nuns  had  just  taken  their  places  in  the  organ-loft,  the  dif- 
ferent parts  of  a  composition  that  had  already  been  frequently  played, 
were  distributed,  violins,  oboes,  and  bass-viols  were  tried  and  tuned, 
when  suddenly  Sister  Antonia,  quite  fresh  and  well,  though  her 
face  was  a  little  pale,  appeared  from  the  stairs.  She  had  under 
her  arm  the  parts  of  the  old  Italian  mass,  on  the  performance  of  which 


300  SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

the  abbess  had  so  earnestly  insisted.  To  the  questions  of  the  nuns, 
who  asked  with  astonishment  whence  she  came,  and  how  she  had 
so  suddenly  recovered,  she  replied,  "  No  matter,  friends,  no  matter  I" 
distributed  the  parts  she  had  carried,  and  glowing  with  enthusiasm, 
sat  down  to  the  organ,  to  undertake  the  direction  of  the  excellent 
composition.  This  phenomenon  was  a  wonderful  and  truly  heavenly 
consolation  to  the  hearts  of  the  pious  ladies  ;  they  at  once  sat  down 
to  their  desks  with  their  instruments,  and  the  very  embarrassment  in 
which  they  were  placed,  had  the  effect  of  bearing  their  souls,  as  if 
upon  wings,  through  all  the  heaven  of  harmony.  The  oratorium  was 
played  with  a  musical  magnificence  of  the  noblest  and  highest  kind. 
Not  a  breath  was  heard  through  the  benches  and  aisles,  and  when 
the  Salve  Regina,  and  still  more,  when  the  Gloria  in  excelsis  was 
performed,  it  was  as  if  the  whole  population  in  the  church  was 
dead.  In  spite  of  the  four  profane  brothers  and  their  followers, 
not  so  much  as  the  dust  on  the  pavement  was  disturbed,  and  the 
cloister  remained  standing  till  the  end  of  the  "  Thirty  Years'  War," 
when  it  was  secularized  by  virtue  of  a  clause  in  the  "  Treaty  of 
Westphalia." 

Six  years  had  passed,  and  this  occurrence  had  been  long  for- 
gotten, when  the  mother  of  the  four  youths  came  from  the  Hague, 
and  mournfully  alleging  that  they  had  completely  disappeared,  insti- 
tuted judicial  inquiries  with  the  magistrates  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  to  • 
learn  what  road  they  had  taken  from  the  city.  The  last  account  that 
had  been  received  of  them  in  the  Netherlands,  where  they  purposely 
resided,  was,  as  she  said,  contained  in  a  letter  which  the  preacher 
had  written  to  his  friend,  a  schoolmate  at  Antwerp,  on  the  eve  of  a 
Corpus  Christi  day.  The  preacher,  with  great  cheerfulness,  or  rather 
wantonness,  had  closely  filled  four  sides  of  this  letter  with  the  account 
of  an  enterprise  which  he  had  projected  against  the  Convent  of  St. 
Cecilia,  and  which  the  mother  would  not  enter  upon  more  particu- 
larly. After  many  vain  endeavours  to  find  the  persons  whom  this 
afflicted  lady  was  seeking,  it  was  at  last  remembered  that  seven 
years  ago — at  a  time  which  seemed  to  correspond  to  the  account — 
four  young  people,  whose  country  and  origin  was  unknown,  had 
been  put  in  the  madhouse,  which  had  been  recently  erected  in  the  city 
by  the  emperor.  However,  as  these  persons  were  affected  by  religious 
extravagance,  and  their  deportment — as  the  court  believed  it  had 
heard — was  exceedingly  melancholy,  this  account  seemed  to  accord 
so  little  with  the  disposition  of  the  sons — which  was  but  too  well 
known  to  the  mother  that  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  attach  much 
importance  to  it,  especially  as  it  was  pretty  evident  that  the  persons 
were  Catholics.  However,  as  she  was  struck  by  many  peculiarities 
which  were  described  to  her,  she  went  one  day  to  the  madhouse  ac- 
companied by  one  of  the  messengers  of  the  court,  and  asked  the  super- 
intendent to  allow  her  to  examine  four  unfortunate  lunatics  who  were 
confined  there.  But  who  can  describe  the  poor  lady's  horror,  when, 
on  entering  the  door,  she  recognised  her  sons  at  the  very  first  glance. 


SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC.  301 

They  were  dressed  in  long  black  robes,  and  were  sitting  round  a  table, 
on  which  was  a  crucifix.  This  they  appeared  to  worship,  leaning 
silently  and  with  folded  hands  upon  the  board.  To  the  questions  of 
the  lady,  who  had  sunk  into  a  chair  quite  exhausted,  as  to  what  they 
were  doing,  the  superintendents  replied,  that  they  were  merely  occu- 
pied in  the  glorification  of  the  Redeemer,  of  whose  divinity,  accord- 
ing to  their  own  account,  they  had  a  clearer  knowledge  than  others. 
They  added  that  the  young  men  had  led  this  ghost-like  life  for  six 
years,  that  they  slept  little  and  tasted  little,  that  no  sound  usually 
passed  their  lips,  and  that  it  was  only  at  the  hour  of  midnight  that 
they  rose  from  their  seats,  when,  with  voices  loud  enough  to  shatter 
the  windows  of  the  house,  they  sang  the  Gloria  in  excelsis.  The 
superintendents  concluded  with  the  remark  that  the  young  men  en- 
joyed perfect  bodily  health,  that  a  certain  serenity,  though  of  a  very 
serious  and  solemn  kind,  could  not  be  denied  them,  and  that  when 
they  heard  themselves  called  mad,  they  shrugged  their  shoulders  with 
an  air  of  compassion,  and  had  more  than  once  declared  that  the  good 
city  of  Aix-la-Chapelle  if  it  knew  what  they  knew,  would  cease  from 
all  business  and  likewise  devote  itself  to  singing  the  Gloria  round  the 
crucifix. 

The  lady,  who  could  not  support  the  horrible  sight  of  her  unfor- 
tunate sons,  and  who  was  soon  led  back  tottering  to  her  house,  set 
off  on  the  following  morning  to  Herr  Veit  Gotthelf,  a  celebrated 
cloth-merchant  of  the  city,  to  gain  some  intelligence  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  unfortunate  occurrence.  She  did  so  because  the  letter  from 
the  preacher  mentioned  this  man,  and  showed  that  he  had  taken  a 
lively  interest  in  the  plan  for  destroying  the  cloister  of  St.  Cecilia 
on  Corpus  Christi  day.  Veit  Gotthelf,  the  cloth-merchant,  who 
had  become  a  husband  and  a  father  since  the  time,  and  had 
moreover  undertaken  his  father's  extensive  business,  received  his 
visiter  very  kindly,  and  when  he  heard  the  affair  that  had  brought 
her  to  him,  bolted  the  door,  and  having  requested  her  to  take  a  seat, 
proceeded  as  follows: 

"My  good  lady,  if  you  will  promise  to  subject  me  to  no  legal 
investigation,  I  will  tell  you  all,  truly  and  without  reserve.  I  was 
indeed  on  intimate  terms  with  your  sons  six  years  ago, — yes,  we  en- 
tertained the  project  which  is  mentioned  in  the  letter.  How  the 
plan,  for  the  execution  of  which,  the  most  careful  preparations  were 
made  witli  truly  impious  acuteness,  proved  a  failure,  is  to  me  utterly 
incomprehensible.  Heaven  itself  seems  to  have  taken  the  convent 
of  those  pious  ladies  under  its  holy  protection.  For  you  must  know 
that  your  sons  had  already,  as  a  prelude  to  some  determined  action,  in- 
terrupted divine  service  by  all  sorts  of  ribaldry,  and  that  more  than  three 
hundred  rascals  gathered  together  within  the  walls  of  our  then  mis- 
guided city,  and  armed  with  hatchets  and  links  only  waited  for  the 
signal  which  the  preacher  was  to  make,  to  level  the  cathedral  with  the 
ground.  Directly  the  music  began,  your  sons,  with  a  simultaneous 
movement  and  in  a  manner  that  surprised  us,  suddenly  took  off 


302  SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

their  hats  ;    as   if  overcome  by  deep  inexpressible   emotion,    they 
bowed  down  their  faces,  and  gradually  covered  them  with  their  hands. 
At  last  the  preacher  suddenly  turning  round,  after  an  astounding 
pause,  called  to  us  with  a  loud  terrific  voice  to  uncover  our  heads  also. 
In  vain  did   some  of  his  comrades  whisper  to  him,  and  sportively 
fogging  him  with  their  arms,  desire  him  to  give  the  concerted  signal 
for  destruction,   the  preacher,  instead  of  answering  sank  upon  his 
knees,  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  heart,  and  fervently  laying  his 
forehead  in  the  dust,  with  all  his  brothers,  recommenced  the  whole 
series  of  prayers,  that  he  had  before  derided.     The  crowd  of  miser- 
able fanatics,  deprived  of  their  leader,  and  utterly  confounded  by  the 
spectacle  I  have  described,  remained  in  a  state  of  irresolution  and 
inactivity  till  the  conclusion  of  the  oratorium,  which  pealed  down 
wondrously  from  the  organ-loft,  and  as  at  this  moment  several  arrests 
were  made  by  order  of  the  commanding  officer,  and  some  wicked 
fellows  who  had  behaved  indecorously,  were  seized  and  led  off  by  a 
guard,  the  wretched  troop  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  avail  themselves 
as  speedily  as  possible  of  the  shelter  of  the  crowd  that  rose  to  depart, 
thus  to  escape  from  the  cathedral.     In  the  evening,  after  vainly 
asking  several  times  for  your  sons  at  the  inn,  whither  they  had  not  re- 
turned, I  wrentwith  some  friends  to  the  conventina  state  of  the  greatest 
uneasiness  that  I  might  make  inquiries  of  the  door-keepers,  who  had 
assisted  the  imperial  guard.     How,  noble  lady,  shall  I  describe  my 
horror,  when  I  saw  the  four  men  as  before,  with  the  hands  folded, 
touching  the  ground  with  their  heads  and  breasts,  as  though  they  had 
been  petrified  there — in  short,    bowed  down  before  the  altar  of  the 
church  with  the  most  intense  devotion  ?     In  vain  did  the  bailiff  of 
the  convent,  who  came  up  at  this  moment,  pull  them  by  their  cloaks, 
and  shake  them  by  their  arms,  and  desire  them  to  leave  the  cathedral, 
which  was  already  growing  quite  dark,  and  in  which  nobody  was 
left ;  half-rising  in  their  dreamy  fashion  they  did  not  listen  to  him , 
until  he  ordered  his  men  to  take  them  up  by  the  arms,  and  lead  them 
out  at  the  porch.     Then,  at  last,  they  followed  us  into  the  city, 
though  not  without  sighing,  and  frequently  looking  back,  with  the 
most  heart-rending  sorrow,  at  the  cathedral,  which  shone  gloriously 
behind  us  in  the  light  of  the  setting  sun.     The  other  friends  and  I 
repeatedly,  and  in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  asked  them  what 
terrible  cause  could  possibly  have  produced  such  a  thorough  change 
in  their  minds.    They  looked  kindly  upon  us,  and  from  time  to  time, 
with  an  expression  that  still  cuts  me  to  the  heart,  wiped  the  tears 
from  their  eyes.     When  they  had  reached  their  dwelling,  they  in- 
geniously fashioned  a  cross  of  birchen-twigs,  and  fixed  it  in  a  little 
pyramid  of  wax  on  the  large  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  between 
two  candles,  with  which  the  servant  had  made  her  appearance.  While 
the  friends,  whose  number  increased  hourly,  stood  by,  wringing  their 
hands,  and  in  scattered  groups,  and  speechless  with  grief,  looked  at 
their  quiet  ghost-like  proceedings,   they  seated  themselves  down  at 
the  table,  as  if  their  senses  were  closed  to  every  other  object,  and 


SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC.  303 

folding  their  hands,  began  their  devotions.  They  neither  desired 
the  repast,  which  the  servant  brought  in  to  regale  their  companions, 
according  to  the  orders  they  had  left  in  the  morning,  nor  afterwards, 
when  night  advanced,  did  they  care  for  the  couch  which  she  had 
set  up  in  the  adjoining  room,  because  they  appeared  weary.  The 
friends,  that  they  might  not  provoke  the  anger  of  the  host,  who 
seemed  much  surprised  at  the  whole  proceeding,  sat  down  to  a  side- 
table  profusely  covered,  and  eat  the  viands,  which  had  been  prepared 
for  a  large  party,  salting  them  at  the  same  time  with  their  tears. 
The  hour  of  midnight  now  suddenly  struck,  and  your  four  sons,  after 
listening  for  a  moment  to  the  dull  sound  of  the  bell,  rose  from  their 
seats  with  a  simultaneous  movement,  and  while  we,  laying  down  our 
napkins,  looked  at  them,  anxious  to  know  what  would  follow  so 
strange  a  commencement,  they  began  to  sing  the  Gloria  in  excehis 
in  the  most  hideous  and  horrible  voice.  The  sound  of  leopards 
and  wolves,  when  on  an  icy  winter's  night  they  roar  at  the  sky,  may 
be  something  like  it.  The  pillars  of  the  house,  I  assure  you,  were 
shaken,  and  the  window-panes  smitten  by  the  visible  breath  from 
their  lungs,  rattled  and  threatened  to  fall  in,  as  if  handfuls  of  heavy 
sand  were  dashed  against  their  surface.  At  this  frightful  sight  we 
lost  all  self-possession,  and  with  hair  erect,  we  darted  off  in  different 
directions.  Leaving  hats  and  cloaks  behind  us,  we  dispersed  through 
the  neighbouring  streets,  which  in  a  short  time  were  filled,  not  with 
us,  but  with  more  than  a  hundred  men  who  had  been  awakened 
from  sleep.  The  people  bursting  open  the  hall-door  hurried  up- 
stairs to  the  room,  to  discover  the  source  of  these  fearful  and  revolt- 
ing howls,  which  seemed  to  implore  the  divine  mercy,  as  if  from  the 
lips  of  condemned  sinners  in  the  deepest  abyss  of  the  infernal  regions. 
At  last  when  the  clock  struck  one,  the  brothers,  without  having  lis- 
tened to  the  indignation  of  the  host,  or  the  exclamations  of  horror  that 
were  uttered  by  the  people,  closed  their  lips,  wiped  with  a  handker- 
chief from  their  forehead  the  perspiration  which  fell  upon  their 
chin  and  breast  in  large  drops,  and,  spreading  out  their  cloaks,  lay 
down  on  the  floor  to  rest  an  hour  from  such  painful  labours.  The 
host,  who  let  them  take  their  own  course,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  over  them  as  soon  as  he  saw  them  asleep;  and  glad  to  get 
rid  of  the  infliction,  for  the  time  at  least,  induced  the  assembled 
crowd  of  people,  who  were  whispering  mysteriously  to  one  another, 
to  leave  the  room,  under  the  assurance  that  the  morning  would 
bring  with  it  a  salutary  change.  But,  alas !  with  the  first  crow  of 
the  cock,  the  unhappy  men  rose  again  to  recommence  before  the 
cross  which  stood  on  the  table,  the  same  dreary,  ghost-like  cloister- 
life,  which  exhaustion  alone  had  interrupted  for  the  moment.  They 
would  receive  no  assistance  nor  advice  from  their  host,  whose  heart 
was  melted  at  their  mournful  aspect;  they  merely  asked  him  to  dis- 
miss with  kindness  their  friends,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  assembling 
about  them  every  day.  They  wished  nothing  from  him  but  bread 
and  water,  and  a  litter  of  straw,  if  possible,  for  the  night,  so  that 


304  SAINT  CECILIA;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC. 

the  man  who  used  to  derive  a  good  profit  from  their  convivial  dis- 
position, was  now  obliged  to  submit  the  whole  case  to  the  legal 
authorities,  and  to  request  them  to  remove  from  his  house  the  four 
persons,  who,  without  doubt,  were  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit.  By 
order  of  the  magistrates  they  underwent  a  medical  examination,  and 
being  proved  mad,  they  were,  as  you  know,  removed  to  the  lunatic 
asylum,  which  the  benevolence  of  our  late  emperor  founded  for  the 
benefit  of  such  unfortunate  persons  within  our  walls." 

This  was  said  by  Veit  Gotthelf,  the  cloth  merchant,  with  much 
besides,  which  we  suppress,  as  we  think  we  have  said  enough  to  give 
a  clear  insight  into  the  real  state  of  the  case.  When  he  had  finished 
he  again  requested  the  lady  not  to  implicate  him  in  any  manner, 
should  the  case  undergo  a  legal  investigation. 

Three  days  afterwards  the  lady  who  had  been  greatly  shocked  at  the 
account  she  had  heard,  took  advantage  of  the  fine  weather  and  walked 
to  the  convent,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  female  friend,  with  the 
mournful  purpose  of  surveying  the  fearful  spot  where  the  Almighty 
had  stricken  down  her  sons,  as  it  were,  by  invisible  lightning.  They 
found  the  entrance  of  the  cathedral  boarded  up,  because  some  build- 
ing was  going  on,  and  even  with  straining  were  unable  to  see  through 
the  chinks  of  the  boards,  any  thing  but  the  rosace- window  which  spar- 
kled magnificently  in  the  back  of  the  church.  Hundreds  of  work- 
men, who  were  singing  merry  songs,  were  on  intricate,  lightly-built 
scaffoldings,  occupied  in  making  the  towers  a  good  third  higher,  and 
in  covering  the  cross  and  battlements,  which  had  hitherto  been  only 
slated,  with  strong,  bright  copper,  which  shone  in  the  sunbeams. 
A  thunder-cloud,  completely  black,  with  borders  of  gold,  was  behind 
the  building.  When  it  had  spoken  its  thunder  over  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
and  had  darted  some  ineffectual  flashes  in  the  direction  of  the  cathe- 
dral, it  sank  grumbling  into  the  east,  dissolved  in  vapour.  It  hap- 
pened that  while  the  ladies  were,  from  the  steps  of  the  spacious 
convent,  contemplating  the  double  spectacle,  absorbed  in  various 
thoughts,  a  nun  who  was  passing  by  learned  who  it  was  that  was 
standing  under  the  portico.  The  abbess,  therefore,  who  had  heard  of 
a  letter  respecting  the  affair  of  the  Corpus  Christi  day,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Netherland  lady,  immediately  sent  the  sister  to  her,  re- 
questing her  to  walk  up.  The  Netherland  lady,  although  surprised 
for  the  moment,  respectfully  complied  with  the  request;  and  while 
her  friend,  at  the  invitation  of  the  nun,  retired  to  a  room  near  the 
entrance,  the  folding  doors  of  the  beautifully-formed  gallery  were 
thrown  open  to  the  visitor  who  ascended  the  stairs.  There  she 
found  the  abbess,  who  was  a  noble  lady,  of  calm,  and  even  royal 
aspect,  with  her  foot  resting  upon  a  stool  supported  by  dragons' 
claws.  On  a  desk  by  her  side  lay  the  score  of  a  piece  of  music. 
The  abbess,  after  she  had  desired  her  visiter  to  take  a  chair,  told 
her  that  she  had  been  already  informed  of  her  arrival  by  the 
burgomaster.  When  she  had  inquired  after  the  state  of  the 
unfortunate  sons  in  the  kindest  manner,  and  had  recommended 


SAINT  CECILIA ;  OR,  THE  POWER  OF  MUSIC.  305 

lier  to  console  herself  as  to  their  fate,  now  it  was  not  to  be 
altered,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  letter  which  the 
preacher  had  sent  to  his  friend,  the  schoolmaster,  at  Antwerp.  The 
lady,  who  had  experience  enough  to  see  what  would  be  the  con- 
sequence of  such  a  step,  felt  confused  for  the  moment.  However,  as 
the  venerable  countenance  of  the  abbess  inspired  her  with  unlimited 
confidence,  and  it  was  by  no  means  credible  that  she  could  have  any 
design  of  making  a  public  use  of  the  contents  of  the  letter,  she  took 
it  from  her  bosom,  after  a  short  hesitation,  and  handed  it  to  the 
noble  lady,  fervently  kissing  her  hand.  Whilst  the  abbess  was 
reading  the  letter,  she  cast  a  look  at  the  score,  which  happened  to 
lie  open  on  the  desk;  and  as  the  cloth  merchant's  narrative  had 
given  her  the  notion  that  it  might  have  been  the  power  of  music 
that  had  turned  the  brains  of  her  poor  sons  on  that  awful  day,  she 
timidly  turned  round,  and  asked  the  nun  who  stood  behind  her  chair, 
whether  that  was  the  composition  which  had  been  played  in  the  ca- 
thedral on  the  memorable  Corpus  Christi  day,  six  years  ago.  The  young 
nun  answered  in  the  affirmative,  saying  that  she  remembered  hear- 
ing of  the  affair,  and  that  since  then,  when  the  music  was  not  used, 
it  was  generally  kept  in  the  abbess's  room.  At  this  the  lady,  deeply 
moved,  arose  and  placed  herself  before  the  desk,  occupied  by  va- 
rious thoughts.  She  looked  at  the  magical  unknown  signs,  with 
which,  as  it  seemed,  some  fearful  spirit  had  mysteriously  marked 
out  its  circle,  and  was  ready  to  sink  into  the  ground,  when  she 
found  the  "Gloria  in  excelsis"  open.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the 
whole  terrors  of  music,  which  had  proved  the  destruction  of  her 
sons,  were  whirling  over  her  head  ;  at  the  mere  sight  of  the  score 
her  senses  seemed  to  be  leaving  her,  and  with  an  infinitely  strong 
feeling  of  humility  and  submission  to  the  divine  power,  she  heartily 
pressed  the  leaf  to  her  lips,  and  then  again  seated  herself  in  her 
chair.  The  abbess  had,  in  the  meanwhile,  read  the  letter,  and  said, 
as  she  folded  it  up  :  "  God  himself,  on  that  wonderful  day,  preserved 
the  cloister  from  the  wantonness  of  your  misguided  sons.  The 
means  that  He  employed  may  be  indifferent  to  you,  since  you  are  a 
Protestant;  indeed,  you  would  hardly  understand  what  I  could 
reveal  to  you  on  the  subject.  For  you  must  know  that  nobody  has 
the  least  notion  who  it  was,  that  under  the  pressure  of  that  fearful 
hour,  when  destruction  was  ready  to  fall  upon  us,  calmly  sat  at  the 
organ,  and  conducted  the  work  which  you  there  find  open.  By  evi- 
dence taken  on  the  following  morning,  in  the  presence  of  the  bailiff 
of  the  convent  and  several  other  persons,  as  recorded  in  our 
archives,  it  is  proved  that  Sister  Antonia,  the  only  one  among  us 
who  knew  how  to  conduct  the  work,  lay  in  the  corner  of  her  cell, 
sick,  insensible,  and  without  the  use  of  her  limbs  during  the  whole 
time  of  its  performance.  A  nun  who,  as  a  personal  relative,  was 
appointed  to  take  charge  of  her,  never  stirred  from  her  bedside 
during  the  whole  morning  on  which  the  festival  of  Corpus  Christi 
was  celebrated  in  the  cathedral.  Nay,  Sister  Antonia  would  herself 


306  THE  NEW  PARIS. 

have  confirmed  the  fact,  that  it  was  not  she  who  in  such  a  strange 
and  surprising  manner  appeared  in  the  organ-loft,  had  her  insensible 
condition  allowed  her  to  be  questioned  on  the  subject,  and  had  she 
not,  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  died  of  the  nervous  fever  of 
which  she  lay  ill,  and  which  did  not  before  appear  to  be  dangerous. 
The  Archbishop  of  Treves,  to  whom  the  occurrence  was  related,  has 
given  the  only  possible  explanation;  viz.,  that  St.  Cecilia  herself 
performed  this  miracle,  which  is  at  once  so  sublime  and  so  fearful; 
and  I  have  received  a  communication  from  the  pope,  in  which  this 
explanation  is  confirmed." 

The  abbess  returned  to  the  lady  the  letter,  which  she  had  merely 
asked  for  to  gain  some  further  information  on  a  matter  which  she 
already  partially  knew,  promising  at  the  same  time  that  she  would 
make  no  use  of  it.  Then  inquiring  whether  there  were  any  hopes 
of  her  sons'  recovery,  and  whether  by  money  or  other  assistance  she 
could  do  any  thing  towards  that  end — questions  which  the  weeping 
abbess,  while  she  kissed  her  gown,  answered  in  the  negative — she 
kindly  shook  hands  with  her,  and  dismissed  her. 

Thus  ends  this  legend.  The  lady,  whose  presence  in  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  was  not  required,  deposited  with  the  legal  tribunals  a 
small  sum  for  the  benefit  of  her  poor  sons,  and  then  returned  to  the 
Hague,  where,  in  the  course  of  the  year,  deeply  moved  by  the  event 
which  had  taken  place,  she  returned  to  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic 
church.  The  sons  died  a  calm  and  happy  death,  at  a  late  old  age, 
after  they  had  once  more  sung  the  "  Gloria  in  excelsis"  as  usual. 

J.  O. 


THE  NEW  PARIS. 
A  CHILD'S  TALE,  BY  j.  w.  GOETHE. 


Goethe, 

heit. 

juvenile  friends,  and  he  introduces  it  thus: 

"  I  could  afford  great  amusement  to  my  friend,  Pylades,  and  other 
kindly-disposed  acquaintance,  by  telling  them  stories.  They  liked 
them,  especially  when  I  told  them  in  my  own  person,  being  much 
delighted  to  hear  that  such  odd  things  could  befall  their  play-fellow. 
As  for  the  question  when  I  could  find  time  and  place  for  such  adven- 
tures— that  was  no  matter,  indeed  they  pretty  well  knew  all  my  in- 
goings and  outgoings,  and  how  I  employed  myself.  To  such  events, 
localities,  taken  from  another  spot,  if  not  from  another  world, 
were  absolutely  necessary,  but  nevertheless  I  made  every  thing 
happen  on  the  very  day  I  told  it,  or  the  day  before.  My  hearers, 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  307 

therefore,  were  less  deluded  by  me,  than  deceived  by  themselves. 
Had  I  not,  in  conformity  to  my  natural  disposition  learned  to  mould 
these  ae'riel  nothings  into  something  like  an  artistical  form,  such  vain- 
glorious beginnings,  would  certainly  have  turned  out  badly  for  me 
in  the  end. 

"  If  we  duly  consider  this  impulse,  we  may  discover  in  it  that 
assumption,  with  which  the  poet  ventures  to  utter  the  greatest  im- 
probabilities in  a  tone  of  authority,  and  requires  that  every  one 
shall  acknowledge  that  to  be  real,  which  to  him,  the  inventor,  may 
appear  to  be  true  in  any  manner  whatever. 

"  However,  what  is  said  above,  in  general  terms,  and  in  the  form 
of  reflection,  may  be  rendered  more  agreeable,  and  at  the  same  time 
more  perceptible  by  an  example.  I  therefore  add  such  a  tale — one, 
which  as  I  used  to  repeat  it  often  to  my  playmates,  still  distinctly 
floats  before  my  imagination  and  in  my  memory."] 

Lately,  on  the  night  before  Whit  Sunday,  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
standing  before  a  mirror,  occupying  myself  with  my  new  summer 
suit,  which  my  parents  had  had  made  against  the  approaching  festi- 
val. The  dress  consisted,  as  you  well  know,  of  shoes  of  nice  leather, 
with  great  silver  buckles,  fine  cotton  stockings,  breeches  of  black 
serge,  and  a  coat  of  green  barracan,  with  gold  buttons.  The  waist- 
coat, of  gold-stuff,  had  been  cut  out  of  the  one  worn  by  my  father 
on  his  wedding-day.  My  hair  was  dressed  and  powdered,  my  curls 
stood  upon  my  head  like  little  wings, — but  I  could  not  finish  dress- 
ing myself;  for  I  continually  changed  the  articles  of  wearing  ap- 
parel, and  the  first  always  dropped  off  when  I  was  about  to  put  on 
the  second.  While  I  was  thus  embarrassed,  a  handsome  young 
man  came  up  to  me,  and  greeted  me  in  the  kindest  manner.  "  Wel- 
come," said  I,  "it  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  see  you  here." — "  Do 
you  know  me  then?"  asked  he,  smiling.  "Why  not?"  I  replied, 
smiling  in  my  turn.  "  You  are  Mercury,  and  I  have  often  enough 
seen  pictures  of  you." — "  I  am,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  and  I  have  been 
sent  to  you  by  the  gods  on  an  important  mission.  Do  you  see  these 
three  apples?"  stretching  out  his  hand,  he  showed  me  three  apples, 
which  from  their  size  he  could  scarcely  hold,  and  which  were  as 
wonderfully  beautiful  as  they  were  large.  One  was  green,  another 
yellow,  and  the  third  red,  and  they  looked  like  precious  stones, 
to  which  the  shape  of  fruit  had  been  given.  I  wished  to  take  them, 
but  he  drew  me  back,  saying,  "  You  must  first  know,  that  they  are 
not  for  you.  You  are  to  give  them  to  the  three  handsomest  young 
persons  in  the  town,  who  will,  every  one  according  to  his  lot,  find 
wives  to  their  heart's  content.  There,  take  them  and  manage  the 
matter  well,"  he  added,  as  he  quitted  me,  and  placed  the  apples  in 
my  open  hand.  They  seemed  to  me  to  have  become  even  larger 
than  they  were  before.  I  held  them  against  the  light,  and  found 
they  were  quite  transparent,  but  soon  they  grew  taller,  and  at 
last  became  three  pretty — very  pretty  little  ladies,  of  the  height  of  a 
moderate- sized  doll,  with  dresses  of  the  colours  of  the  apples.  In  this 

\ 


308  THE  NEW  PARIS. 

form  they  glided  softly  up  my  fingers,  and  when  I  was  about  to 
make  a  catch  at  them,  that  I  might  secure  one  at  least,,  they  soared 
up  far  away,  so  that  I  could  do  nothing  but  look  after  them.  There 
I  stood  quite  astounded  and  petrified,  with  my  hands  high  in  the 
air,  and  still  staring  at  my  fingers,  as  if  their  was  something  to  be  seen 
upon  them.  All  of  a  sudden  I  perceived  upon  the  very  tips  a  charm- 
ing little  girl,  very  pretty  and  lively,  though  smaller  than  the  others. 
As  she  did  not  fly  away,  like  them,  but  remained  with  me,  and 
danced  about,  now  on  this  finger,  now  on  that,  I  looked  at  her  for 
some  time,  in  a  state  of  astonishment.  She  pleased  me  so  much, 
that  I  fancied  I  might  catch  her,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  making 
a  grasp — as  I  thought  very  cleverly — when  I  felt  a  blow  on  the 
head,  that  caused  me  to  fall  completely  stunned,  and  did  not  awaken 
from  the  stupor  it  occasioned  till  it  was  time  to  dress  and  go  to 
church. 

I  often  recalled  the  images  to  my  mind  during  divine  service,  and 
at  my  grandfather's  table  where  I  dined.  In  the  afternoon  I  went 
to  visit  some  friends,  both  because  such  visits  were  due,  and  because 
I  wished  to  show  myself  in  my  new  clothes,  with  my  hat  under  my 
arm  and  my  sword  by  my  side.  Finding  no  one  at  home,  and  hear- 
ing that  they  were  all  gone  to  the  gardens,  I  resolved  to  follow  them, 
intending  to  pass  a  pleasant  evening.  My  way  led  me  along  the 
town  wall,  and  I  soon  came  to  the  spot  which  is  called  the  "  evil 
wall,"  and  rightly  enough,  for  there  is  reason  to  believe  it  is  always 
haunted.  Walking  slowly  along,  I  thought  of  my  three  goddesses, 
and  still  more  of  the  little  nymph,  and  often  held  my  fingers  up  in 
the  air  in  the  hope  that  she  would  be  kind  enough  to  balance  herself 
upon  them  once  more.  As  I  proceeded,  occupied  with  these 
thoughts,  I  discerned  in  the  wall,  on  my  left  hand,  a  little  wicket 
which  I  did  not  remember  to  have  perceived  before.  It  appeared 
low,  but  the  pointed  arch  was  such  as  to  afford  room  for  the  tallest 
man  to  enter.  The  arch  and  the  wall  on  either  side  had  been  most 
richly  carved  by  the  mason  and  the  sculptor,  but  my  attention  was 
most  attracted  by  the  door  itself.  The  old  brown  wood  of  which  it 
was  made  had  been  but  little  ornamented,  but  broad  bands  of  brass 
were  attached  to  it,  worked  both  in  relief  and  in  intaglio.  The  foliage 
which  was  represented  on  this  brass,  and  on  which  the  most  natural 
birds  were  sitting,  I  could  not  sufficiently  admire.  I  was,  however, 
most  surprised  at  seeing  no  keyhole,  no  latch,  no  knocker,  and  from 
the  absence  of  these  I  surmised  that  the  door  only  opened  from 
within.  I  was  not  mistaken,  for  when  I  went  close  to  it,  to  feel  the 
carved  work,  it  opened  inwards,  and  a  man,  whose  dress  was  some- 
what long,  wide,  and  altogether  singular,  appeared  before  me.  A 
venerable  beard  flowed  about  his  chin,  and  I  was,  therefore,  inclined 
to  take  him  for  a  Jew.  As  if  he  had  divined  my  thoughts  he  made 
the  sign  of  the  holy  cross,  thereby  giving  me  to  understand  that  he 
was  a  good  Catholic  Christian.  "  Young  gentleman,  how  did  you 
come  here,  and  what  are  you  doing?"  said  he,  with  friendly  voice 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  309 

and  gesture.     "I  am  admiring  the  work  of  this  door,"  I  replied, 
"for  I  have  never  seen  any  thing  like  it,  except,  perhaps,  in  small 
pieces,  in  the  collection  of  amateurs."     "  I  am  delighted,"  said  he, 
"  that  you  take  pleasure  in  such  work.     The  door  is  still  more  beau- 
tiful on  the  inner  side,  pray  walk  in  if  you  choose."     This  affair 
made  me  feel  somewhat  uncomfortable.     I  felt  embarrassed  by  the 
strange  dress  of  the  porter,  by  the  retired  situation  of  the  place, 
and  a  certain  indescribable  something  in  the  air.     I  paused,  there- 
fore, under  the  pretext  of  looking  longer  at  the  outside,  and  at  the 
same  time  cast  furtive  glances  at  the  garden — for  a  garden  it  was 
which  had  just  been  opened  to  me.     Immediately  behind  the  gate 
I  saw  a  space  completely  shaded  by  the  closely  entwined  branches  of 
some  old  linden  trees,  which  had  been  planted  at  regular  intervals, 
so  that  the  most  numerous  assembly  might  have  rested  there  during 
the  most  intense  heat  of  the  day.     I  had  already  set  my  foot  on  the 
threshold,  and  the  old  man  was  well  able  to  lure  me  on  a  step  fur- 
ther.    Indeed  I  made  no  resistance,  for  I  had  always  heard  that  a 
prince  or  sultan,  in  such  cases,  must  never  ask  whether  there  is  any 
danger.     Had  I  not  my  sword  by  my  side,  and  could  I  not  soon 
get  the  better  of  the  old  man  if  he  took  a  hostile  position?    I  there- 
fore walked  in  with  confidence,  and  the  porter  shut  the  gate  so  softly 
that  I  could  hardly  hear  the  sound.     He  then  showed  the  work  on 
the  inside,  which  was  certainly  much  superior  to  that  without,  and 
explained  it,  giving  indications  of  the  greatest  kindness  towards  me. 
My  mind  being  completely  set  at  rest  I  allowed  myself  to  be  led 
further  along  the  shady  space  by  the  wall  which  circled  the  garden, 
and  found  much  to  admire.     Niches,  artificially  adorned  with  shells, 
coral,  and  pieces  of  ore,  poured  from  Tritons'  mouths  copious  streams 
of  water  into  marble  basins.     Between  them  were  aviaries  and  other 
pieces  of  lattice -work,  in  which  there  were  squirrels  hopping  about, 
guinea-pigs  running  backwards  and  forwards,  and,  in  short,  all  the 
pretty  little  creatures  that  one  could  desire.     The  birds  cried  and 
sung  to  us  as  we  went  along;  the  starlings,  in  particular,  prated  after 
us  the  most  absurd  stuff,  one  always  calling  out  "  Paris,  Paris,"  and 
the  other  "Narcissus,  Narcissus,"  as  plain  as  any  schoolboy.     The 
old  man  seemed  to  look  at  me  more  seriously  whenever  the  birds 
uttered  this,  but  I  pretended  not  to  mind  it,  and  indeed  had  no  time 
to  attend  to  him,  for  I  could  clearly  perceive  that  we  were  walking- 
round  and  that  this  shady  place  was  in  fact  a  large  circle,  which  in- 
closed another  of  far  more  importance.     We  had  again  come  to  the 
little  door,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  old  man  wished  to  dismiss 
me ;  but  my  eyes  remained  fixed  on  a  golden  railing  which  seemed 
to  inclose  the  middle  of  this  wonderful  garden,  and  which  in  my 
walk  I  had  found  an  opportunity  of  observing  sufficiently,  although 
the  old  man  always  contrived  to  keep  me  close  to  the  wall,  and, 
therefore,  pretty  far  from  the  centre.     As  he  was  going  up  to  the 
gate  I  said  to  him,  with  a  bow:  "You  have  been  so  exceedingly 
civil  to  me  that  I  can  venture  to  make  another  request  before  I  leave 


310  THE  NEW  PARIS. 

you.  May  I  not  look  closer  at  that  golden  railing,  which  seems  to 
encircle  the  inner  part  of  the  garden?"  "  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  but 
then  you  must  submit  to  certain  conditions."  "  In  what  do  they 
consist?"  I  asked,  quickly.  "You  must  leave  your  hat  and  sword 
here,  and  must  not  quit  my  hand  as  I  accompany  you."  "  To  that 
I  consent  readily  enough,"  said  I,  and  I  laid  my  hat  and  sword  on 
the  first  stone  bench  that  came  in  my  way.  Upon  this  he  at  once 
seized  my  left  hand  in  his  right,  held  it  fast,  and,  with  some  degree 
of  force,  led  me  straight  on.  When  we  came  to  the  railing,  my  sur- 
prise was  increased  to  overwhelming  astonishment;  any  thing  like 
it  I  had  never  seen.  On  a  high  socle  of  marble  countless  spears 
and  partisans  stood  in  a  row,  and  were  joined  together  by  their 
upper  ends,  which  were  singularly  ornamented.  Peeping  through  the 
interstices  I  saw  behind  this  railing  a  piece  of  water  which  flowed 
gently  along,  with  marble  on  each  side  of  it,  and  in  the  clear  depths 
of  which  a  great  number  of  gold  and  silver  fish  might  be  discovered, 
which  now  slowly,  now  swiftly,  now  singly,  now  in  shoals,  were  swim- 
ming to  and  fro.  I  wished  much  to  see  the  other  side  of  the  canal 
that  I  might  learn  how  the  interior  part  of  the  garden  was  fashioned ; 
but,  to  my  great  annoyance,  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  stood  a 
similar  railing,  which  was  so  skilfully  arranged  that,  opposite  to 
every  space  on  the  side  where  I  stood  was  placed  a  spear  or  a  par- 
tisan on  the  other,  and  thus,  with  the  additional  impediment  of 
the  other  ornaments,  it  was  impossible  for  one  to  look  through, 
whatever  position  one  took.  Besides,  the  old  man,  who  kept  a  fast 
hold  of  me,  hindered  me  from  moving  freely.  My  curiosity — after 
all  that  I  had  seen — increased  more  and  more,  and  I  plucked  up 
courage  to  ask  the  old  man  whether  it  was  not  possible  to  cross  over. 
"  Why  not?"  said  he,  "  only  you  must  conform  to  new  conditions." 
When  I  asked  him  what  these  were,  he  told  me  that  I  must  change 
my  dress.  I  readily  consented;  he  led  me  back  towards  the  outer 
wall  and  into  a  neat  little  room,  against  the  walls  of  which  hung 
dresses  of  several  kinds  which  seemed  to  approach  the  oriental  style 
of  costume.  I  changed  my  dress  quickly,  and  he  put  my  powdered 
locks  into  a  many-coloured  net,  after  finally  dusting  out  the  powder, 
to  my  great  horror.  Standing  before  a  large  mirror  I  thought  I 
looked  prettily  enough  in  my  disguise,  and  liked  myself  better  than 
in  my  stiff  Sunday  clothes.  I  made  gestures  and  leaps,  in  imitation 
of  the  dancers  I  had  seen  on  the  stage  erected  at  the  fair,  and  while 
I  was  doing  this  I  perceived,  by  chance,  the  reflection  in  the  glass 
of  a  niche  that  stood  behind  me.  Against  its  white  ground  hung 
three  green  cords,  each  twined  in  a  manner  which  was  not  very  clear 
to  me  in  the  distance.  I  therefore  turned  round  somewhat  hastily 
and  asked  the  old  man  about  the  niche  and  these  cords  also.  Civilly 
enough  he  took  one  down  and  showed  it  to  me.  It  was  a  cord  of 
green  silk  of  moderate  thickness,  the  ends  of  which,  fastened  together 
by  a  piece  of  green  leather,  cut  through  in  two  places,  gave *" it  the 
appearance  of  being  an  instrument  for  no  very  agreeable  purpose. 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  311 

The  affair  seemed  to  me  somewhat  equivocal,  and  I  asked  the  old 
man  for  an  explanation.  He  answered,  very  quietly  and  mildly,  that 
the  cord  was  intended  for  those  who  abused  the  confidence  which 
was  here  readily  placed  in  them.  He  hung  the  cord  in  its  place 
again,  and  asked  me  to  follow  him  at  once.  This  time  he  did  not 
take  hold  of  me,  but  I  walked  freely  by  his  side. 

My  greatest  curiosity  now  was  to  know  where  the  door  could  be 
to  pass  through  the  railing,  and  where  the  bridge  could  be  to 
cross  the  canal,  for  I  had  been  able  to  discern  nothing  of  the  sort 
hitherto.  I  therefore  looked  at  the  golden  rails  very  closely,  as  we 
hastened  close  up  to  them, — when  all  of  a  sudden  my  sight  failed 
me  ;  for  the  spears,  pikes,  halberds,  and  partisans,  began  quite  un- 
expectedly to  rattle  and  to  shake,  and  this  curious  movement  ended 
with  the  points  of  all  being  inclined  towards  each  other,  just  as  if 
two  ancient  armies,  armed  with  pikes,  were  preparing  for  the 
attack.  The  confusion  before  my  eyes,  the  clatter  in  my  ears,  was 
almost  insupportable  ;  but  the  sight  became  infinitely  astonishing, 
when  the  spears,  laying  themselves  quite  down,  covered  the  whole 
circle  of  the  canal,  and  formed  the  noblest  bridge  that  one  can 
imagine,  while  the  most  variegated  garden  was  revealed  to  my  view. 
It  was  divided  into  beds,  which  wound  about  one  another,  and,  seen 
at  once,  formed  a  labyrinth  of  an  ornament.  All  of  these  were  en- 
compassed by  a  green  border,  formed  of  a  short  woolly-looking 
plant,  which  I  had  never  seen;  all  were  adorned  with  flowers, 
every  division  being  of  a  different  colour,  and  as  these  likewise  grew 
short,  the  ground  plan  was  easily  traced.  This  beautiful  sight, 
which  I  enjoyed  in  the  full  sunshine,  completely  riveted  my  eyes  ; 
but  I  scarcely  knew  where  I  could  set  my  foot,  for  the  winding 
paths  were  neatly  covered  with  a  blue  sand,  which  seemed  to  form 
upon  earth  a  darker  sky,  or  a  sky  in  the  water.  Therefore,  with  my 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  I  went  on  for  some  time  by  the  side  of 
my  conductor,  until  I  at  length  perceived,  that  in  the  midst  of  the 
circle  of  beds  and  flowers,  stood  another  large  circle  of  cypresses,  or 
trees  of  the  poplar  kind,  through  which  it  was  impossible  to  see,  as 
the  lowest  boughs  seemed  to  be  shooting  up  from  the  earth.  My 
conductor,  without  forcing  me  straight  into  the  nearest  way,  never- 
theless led  me  immediately  towards  that  centre ;  and  how  was  I  sur- 
prised, when  entering  the  circle  of  the  tall  trees,  I  saw  before  me  the 
portico  of  a  magnificent  summer-house,  which  seemed  to  have  simi- 
lar openings  and  entrances  on  every  side  !  A  heavenly  music,  which 
issued  from  the  building,  charmed  me  even  more  than  this  perfect 
specimen  of  architecture.  Now  I  thought  I  heard  a  lute,  now  a 
harp,  now  a  guitar,  and  now  a  tinkling  sound,  which  was  not  like 
that  of  any  of  the  three  instruments.  The  door  which  we  approached 
opened  at  a  light  touch  from  the  old  man,  and  my  amazement  was 
great,  when  the  female  porter,  who  came  out,  appeared  exactly  like 
the  little  maiden  who  had  danced  upon  my  fingers  in  my  dream. 
She  greeted  me  as  if  we  were  old  acquaintances,  and  asked  me  to 

Y 


312  THE  NEW  PARIS. 

walk  in.  The  old  man  remained  behind,  and  I  went  with  her  along 
a  short  passage,  which  was  arched  over  and  beautifully  ornamented, 
till  I  came  to  the  central  hall  ;  the  majestic  and  cathedral-seeming 
height  of  which  arrested  my  sight  and  surprised  me,  immediately  on 
my  entrance.  However,  my  eye  could  not  long  remain  fixed  upwards, 
as  it  was  soon  lured  down  by  a  most  charming  spectacle.  On  the  car- 
pet, immediately  beneath  the  centre  of  the  cupola,  sat  three  ladies,  each 
one  forming  the  corner  of  a  triangle,  and  each  dressed  in  a  different 
colour.  One  was  in  red,  another  in  yellow,  the  third  in  green. 
Their  seats  were  gilded,  and  the  carpet  was  a  perfect  bed  of  flowers. 
In  their  arms  lay  the  three  instruments,  the  sounds  of  which  I  had 
distinguished  from  without,  for  they  had  left  off  playing,  being  dis- 
turbed by  my  entrance.  "  Welcome !"  said  the  middle  one,  who 
sat  with  her  face  towards  the  door,  was  dressed  in  red,  and  had  the 
harp.  "  Sit  down  by  Alerte,  and  listen,  if  you  are  fond  of  music." 
I  now  saw,  for  the  first  time,  that  a  tolerably  long  bench,  placed 
across,  with  a  mandoline  upon  it,  lay  before  me.  The  pretty  little 
girl  took  up  the  mandoline,  seated  herself,  and  drew  me  to  her  side. 
Now  I  looked  at  the  second  lady,  who  was  on  my  right.  She  wore 
the  yellow  dress,  and  had  a  guitar  in  her  hand;  and  if  the  harp- 
player  was  imposing  in  her  form,  grand  in  her  features,  and  majestic 
in  her  deportment,  the  guitar-player  was  distinguished  by  every 
grace  and  cheerfulness.  She  was  a  slender  blonde,  while  the  other  was 
adorned  with  hair  of  a  dark  brown.  The  variety  and  accordance 
of  their  music  did  not  prevent  me  from  observing  the  third 
beauty  in  the  green  dress,  the  tones  of  whose  lute  were  to 
me  somewhat  touching,  and  at  the  same  time  remarkably  striking. 
She  it  was  who  seemed  to  take  the  greatest  notice  of  me,  and 
to  direct  her  playing  towards  me.  At  the  same  time,  I  could 
not  tell  what  to  make  of  her,  for  she  was  now  tender,  now  odd, 
now  frank,  now  capricious,  as  she  altered  her  gestures  and  the 
style  of  her  playing.  Sometimes  she  seemed  anxious  to  move  me, 
and  sometimes  anxious  to  tease  me.  No  matter,  however,  what 
she  did,  she  gained  no  advantage  over  me,  for  I  was  quite  taken 
uj>  by  my  little  neighbour,  to  whom  I  sat  close ;  and  when  I  per- 
ceived plainly  enough  that  the  three  ladies  were  the  sylphides  of 
my  dream,  and  recognised  the  colours  of  the  apples ,  I  well  understood 
that  I  had  no  reason  to  secure  them:  The  pretty  little  creature  I 
would  much  sooner  have  seized,  had  not  the  box  on  the  ear  which  she 
gave  me  in  my  dream  remained  still  fresh  in  my  memory.  Hitherto 
she  had  kept  quiet  with  her  mandoline ;  but  when  her  mistresses  had 
ceased,  they  ordered  her  to  treat  us  with  a  few  lively  airs.  Scarcely 
had  she  struck  off  some  dancing  melodies  in  a  very  exciting  style, 
than  she  jumped  up,  and  I  did  the  same.  She  played  and  danced; 
I  was  forced  to  follow  her  steps,  and  we  went  through  a  kind  of 
little  ballet,  at  which  the  ladies  seemed  to  be  well  pleased,  for  no 
sooner  had  we  finished  it,  than  they  ordered  the  little  girl  to  refresh 
me  with  something  nice  before  supper.  In  truth,  I  had  forgotten 


THE  NEW  PARIS  313 

that  there  was  any  thing  else  in  the  world  beyond  this  Paradise. 
Alerte  led  me  back  into  the  passage  by  which  I  had  entered.  On 
one  side,  she  had  two  well-furnished  apartments,  in  one  of  which — 
the  one  in  which  she  lived — she  served  before  me  oranges,  figs, 
peaches,  and  grapes,  and  I  tasted  the  fruits  both  of  foreign  lands 
and  of  early  months,  with  great  appetite.  Confectionary  was  in 
abundance,  and  she  filled  a  goblet  of  polished  crystal  with  sparkling 
wine;  but  I  had  no  need  of  drinking,  as  I  sufficiently  refreshed 
myself  with  the  fruits.  "  Now  we  will  play,"  said  she,  and  took 
me  into  the  other  room.  This  had  the  appearance  of  a  Christmas 
fair,  except  that  such  fine,  precious  things  are  never  to  be  seen  in  a 
booth.  There  were  all  sorts  of  dolls,  and  dolls'  clothes,  and  utensils; 
little  kitchens,  parlours,  and  shops ;  besides  single  toys  in  abundance. 
She  led  me  all  round  to  the  glass  cases,  in  which  these  precious 
articles  were  preserved.  The  first  case  she  soon  closed  again,  saying : 
"  There  is  nothing  for  you,  I  am  sure,  there,"  added  she,  "  we  can 
find  building  materials,  walls,  and  towers,  houses,  palaces,  and 
churches  to  put  together  a  large  town.  That,  however,  would  be 
no  amusement  for  me,  so  we  will  take  something  else,  that  may  be 
equally  amusing  for  both  of  us."  She  then  brought  out  some 
boxes,  in  which  I  saw  some  little  soldiers  placed  in  layers  one  over 
the  other,  and  with  respect  to  which  I  was  forced  to  confess  that  I 
had  never  seen  any  thing  so  pretty  in  my  life.  She  did  not  leave 
me  time  to  look  closer  into  particulars,  but  took  one  of  the  boxes 
under  her  arm,  while  I  caught  up  the  other.  "  We  will  go  to  the 
golden  bridge,"  said  she,  "  for  that's  the  best  place  to  play  at 
soldiers.  The  spears  point  out  the  direction  in  which  the  armies 
should  be  placed."  We  had  now  reached  the  shaking,  golden 
bridge,  and  I  could  hear  the  water  ripple,  and  the  fish  splash  be- 
neath me,  as  I  knelt  down  to  set  up  my  rows  of  soldiers,  which,  as 
I  now  saw,  were  all  on  horseback.  She  gloried  in  being  the  queen 
of  the  Amazons,  as  the  leader  of  her  host;  while  I,  on  the  other 
hand,  found  Achilles,  and  a  very  fine  set  of  Greek  cavalry.  The 
armies  stood  face  to  face,  and  nothing  prettier  can  be  conceived. 
They  were  not  flat  leaden  horsemen  like  ours,  but  man  and  horse 
were  round  and  full-bodied,  and  very  finely  worked.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  see  how  they  were  able  to  balance  themselves,  for  they  kept 
up  without  having  a  stand. 

We  had  both  surveyed  our  armies  with  great  complacency,  when 
she  announced  the  attack.  Besides  the  soldiers,  we  had  found  artil- 
lery in  our  chests — namely,  boxes  filled  with  little  balls  of  polished  agate. 
With  these  we  were  to  shoot  at  each  other's  forces  from  a  certain  dis- 
tance, on  the  express  condition,  however,  that  we  were  not  to  throw 
with  greater  force  than  was  required  to  upset  the  figures,  as  they 
were  on  no  account  to  be  injured.  The  cannonading  began  from 
each  side,  and,  at  first,  to  the  great  delight  of  both  of  us.  But  when 
my  adversary  remarked  that  I  took  a  better  aim  than  she,  and  that 
I  might  end  by  winning  the  game,  which  depended  on  having  the 

y  2 


314  THE  NEW  PARIS. 

greatest  number  of  men  upright,  she  stepped  closer,  and  her  girlish 
manner  of  throwing  proved  successful.  A  number  of  my  best 
troops  were  laid  low,  and  the  more  I  protested,  with  the  greater 
zeal  did  she  go  on  throwing.  At  last  I  became  vexed,  and  told  her 
that  I  would  do  the  same.  Accordingly,  I  not  only  came  closer, 
but  in  my  passion,  I  threw  much  harder,  so  that,  in  a  short  time,  a 
couple  of  her  little  female  centaurs  were  broken  to  pieces.  Her 
zeal  prevented  her  from  noticing  this  at  once,  but  I  stood  petrified 
with  astonishment  when  the  broken  figures  joined  themselves  toge- 
ther again,  and  the  Amazon  and  her  horse  again  became  entire  ; 
nay,  became  perfectly  alive  at  the  same  time,  for  they  galloped 
from  the  bridge  up  to  the  linden-trees,  and  after  running  backwards 
and  forwards,  were  lost — how  I  cannot  tell — in  the  direction  of  the 
wall.  My  fair  adversary  had  scarcely  perceived  this,  than  she 
sobbed  aloud,  and  exclaimed  that  I  had  caused  her  an  irreparable 
loss,  which  was  far  greater  than  words  could  express.  I,  who  had 
grown  enraged,  was  pleased  at  doing  her  an  injury,  and  with  blind 
fury,  threw  the  few  agate-balls  I  still  had,  among  her  forces.  Un- 
fortunately, I  struck  the  queen,  who  had  been  excepted,  as  long  as 
our  game  had  proceeded  in  the  regular  way.  She  flew  to  pieces, 
and  her  nearest  adjutants  were  shattered  at  the  same  time.  Soon, 
however,  they  joined  themselves  together  again,  took  their  flight 
like  the  first,  galloped  merrily  under  the  lindens,  and  were  lost 
near  the  wall. 

My  adversary  reproached  and  scolded  me,  but  I,  having  once 
begun  the  work  of  destruction,  stooped  down  to  pick  up  some  of  the 
agate  balls,  which  were  rolling  about  the  golden  spears.  My  savage 
wish  was  to  destroy  her  whole  army;  while  she  did  not  remain  in- 
active, but  darting  at  me  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear,  that  set  my 
very  head  ringing.  I,  who  had  always  heard  that  a  hearty  kiss  is 
the  proper  return  for  a  blow  given  by  a  girl,  caught  her  by  her  ears 
and  kissed  her  several  times.  At  this  she  uttered  such  a  piercing 
cry  that  I  was  absolutely  terrified.  I  let  her  go.  and  it  was  for- 
tunate that  I  did  so,  for  at  that  moment  I  did  not  know  what  befel 
me.  The  ground  beneath  me  began  to  shake  and  rattle,  the  rails, 
as  I  now  observed,  put  themselves  in  motion,  but  I  had  no  time  for 
consideration,  nor  was  I  sufficient  master  of  my  feet  to  fly.  Every 
moment  I  was  afraid  of  being  impaled,  for  the  lances  and  partisans 
which  began  to  stand  upright,  tore  my  clothes.  Suffice  it  to  say, — 
I  do  not  know  how  it  was, — that  my  sight  and  hearing  failed  me, 
and  that  I  recovered  from  my  terror  and  the  stupor  into  which  I  had 
been  thrown,  at  the  foot  of  a  linden  tree,  against  which  the  railing, 
while  raising  itself,  had  thrown  me.  My  malice  returned  with  my 
senses,  and  increased  still  more,  when  from  the  other  side  I  heard 
the  jeers  and  laughter  of  my  adversary,  who  had  probably  come  to 
the  ground  somewhat  more  softly  than  myself.  I  therefore  got  up, 
and  as  I  saw  scattered  around  me,  my  own  little  army  with  it 
leaden  Achilles,  which  the  rising  rails  had  thrown  off  together 


THE  NEW  PARIS.  315 

with  myself,  I  began  by  catching  hold  of  the  hero,  and  dashing 
him  against  a  tree.  His  resuscitation  and  flight  gave  me  double 
pleasure,  for  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  world  was  associated  with  all 
the  delight  of  gratified  malice,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of  sending 
the  rest  of  the  Greeks  after  him,  when  all  of  a  sudden  water 
came  hissing  from  every  side,  from  the  stones  and  walls,  from  the 

f  round  and  branches ;  and  wherever  I  turned  it  pelted  me  furiously. 
ly  light  dress  was    soon  completely  wet  through,  and  as  it  had 
been  already  torn,  I  lost  no  time  in  flinging  it  off  altogether.     My 
slippers  I  threw  aside,  and  then  one  covering  after  the  other,  find- 
ing it  very  pleasant  in  the  sultry  day  to  take  such  a  shower-bath. 
Stark  naked,  I  walked  gravely  along  between  the  welcome  waters, 
and  I  thought  1  might  thus  go  on  pleasantly  for  some  time.     My 
rage  had  cooled,  and  I  now  desired  nothing  more  than  a  recon- 
ciliation with  my  little  adversary.  All  of  a  sudden  the  water  stopped, 
and  I  now  stood  completely  wet  on  ground  that  was  soaked  through. 
The  presence  of  the  old  man,  who  unexpectedly  came  before  me, 
was  any  thing  but  welcome.     I  should  have  wished,  if  not  to  hide 
myself,  at  any  rate  to  put  on  some  covering.     Shame,  cold,  and  an 
endeavour  to  cover  myself  in  some  measure,  made  me  cut  a  very 
miserable  figure,  and  the  old  man  lost  no  time  in  loading  me  with 
the  bitterest  reproaches.      "  What  hinders  me,"  he  cried,   "  from 
taking  one  of  the  green  cords,  and  fitting  it  to  your  back  at  any 
rate,  if  not  to  your  neck!"     This  threat  I  took  very  ill.     u  Hark 
ye,"  said  I,  "  you  had  better  take  care  of  such  words,  or  even  such 
thoughts,  or  you  and  your  mistresses  will  be  lost!"     "Who  are 
you?"  said  he,   in  a  tone  of  defiance,    "  that  dare  to  talk  in  this 
way?"      "  A  favourite  of    the    gods,"    I   replied,    "  on  whom  it 
depends  whether  those  ladies  will    find  good   husbands   and  live 
happily,  or   pine  and    grow  old    in   their   magic  cloister."      The 
old  man  retreated    some  steps.     "  Who    revealed    that    to    you?" 
he  asked  with  doubt  and  astonishment.     "  Three  apples,"  said  I, 
"  three  jewels."     "  And  what  reward  do  you  desire?"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Above  all  things,"  I  replied,  "  the  little  creature  who  brought  me 
into  this  cursed  condition."     The  old  man  threw  himself  at  my  feet, 
without  heeding  the  dampness  and  muddiness  of  the  ground.     He 
then  arose,  not  in  the  least  wetted,  took  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  led 
me  into  the  room,   where  I  had  been  before,   dressed  me  again 
quickly,  and  I  soon  found  myself  with  my  hair  curled  and  my  Sun- 
day clothes  on,  as  at  first.     The  porter  did  not  utter  another  word, 
but  before  he  allowed  me  to  cross  the  threshold,  he  detained  me, 
and  showed  to  me  certain  objects  that  were  near  the  wall,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  the  way,  while  at  the  same  time  he  pointed  to  the 
door  backwards.     I  understood  him  well.     He  wished  me  to  impress 
the  objects  on  my  mind,  that  I  might  more  readily  find  the  door 
again,  which  unexpectedly  closed  behind  me.     I  observed  already 
what  was  opposite  to  me.     The  boughs  of  seven  old  nut-trees  pro- 
jected over  a  high  wall,  and  partly  covered  the  moulding  with  which 


316  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

it  terminated.  The  branches  reached  to  a  stone  tablet,  the  deco- 
rated border  of  which  I  could  easily  recognise,  but  the  inscription 
on  which  I  could  not  read.  It  rested  on  the  jutting  stone  of  a  niche, 
in  which  a  fountain  artificially  constructed,  was  throwing  water 
from  cup  to  cup  into  a  large  basin,  which  formed  a  kind  of  little 
pond,  and  was  lost  in  the  ground.  Fountain,  inscription,  nut-trees, 
all  stood,  one  directly  over  the  other,  and  I  could  have  painted  it  as 
I  saw  it. 

It  may  be  easily  conceived  how  I  passed  the  evening,  and  many  a 
day  afterwards,  and  how  often  I  repeated  these  adventures,  which 
I  could  hardly  believe  myself.  As  soon  as  I  could,  I  went  again  to 
the  "  evil  wall,"  that  I  might  at  least  refresh  my  memory  by  the 
sight  of  the  objects,  and  look  at  the  beautiful  door.  To  my  great 
astonishment  all  was  changed.  Nut-trees  were,  indeed,  hanging 
over  the  wall,  but  they  were  not  close  together.  A  tablet  was  in- 
serted, but  it  stood  at  some  distance  to  the  right  of  the  trees,  was 
without  carving,  and  had  a  legible  inscription.  A  niche  with  a 
fountain  stood  far  to  the  left,  and  was  not  to  be  compared  to  the 
one  I  had  before  seen.  Of  the  door  not  a  trace  was  to  be  found, 
and  I  was,  therefore,  almost  compelled  to  believe  that  my  second 
adventure  was  a  dream,  as  well  as  my  first.  My  only  consolation  is, 
that  the  three  objects  always  seem  to  change  their  situation,  for, 
after  repeated  visits  to  the  spot,  I  think  I  have  observed,  that  the 
nut-trees  are  running  towards  each  other,  and  that  the  tablet  and 
fountain  are  approaching.  Probably,  when  all  has  come  together 
again,  the  door  will  once  more  be  visible,  and  I  will  do  all  I.  can  to 
fit  on  a  sequel  to  the  adventure.  Whether  I  shall  be  able  to  tell 
what  befalls  me  in  future,  or  whether  it  will  be  expressly  forbidden 
me,  I  cannot  say.  J.  O. 


.     ALI  AND   GULHYNDI. 

BY  ADAM  OEHLENSCHLAGER. 

THERE  once  lived  in  Bagdad  a  wealthy  merchant  named  Ibrahim. 
His  only  son,  Ali,  a  young  man  of  eminent  talent,  though  but  little 
resembling  his  father,  was  his  pride  and  delight.  T he  father's  notion 
of  happiness  consisted  in  the  enjoyment  of  life  and  in  the  industry 
requisite  to  procure  the  key  to  all  earthly  enjoyments — wealth;  the 
son's  mind,  on  the  contrary,  was  devoted  to  contemplation  and  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge.  He  but  rarely  quitted  his  room,  and  was 
only  wont  to  walk  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  along  the  banks  of  the 
Tigris  outside  the  city,  to  the  tomb  of  Iman  Izaser,  a  Mahom- 
medan  saint,  which  stood  in  a  circular  temple  surrounded  by  date 
trees,  about  a  league  distant.  Here  he  usually  seated  himself  in 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  317 

the  shade,  and  liis  delight  consisted  in  observing  those  who  passed 
by  on  their  way  to  the  temple  to  perform  their  devotions.  He 
had,  above  all,  observed,  as  well  as  the  close  veil  would  permit,  the 
slight  and  charming  form  of  a  female  who  went  almost  daily  to  the 
mosque,  accompanied  by  an  attendant,  who  appeared  somewhat 
older  than  herself.  His  eyes  followed  with  delight  the  muffled 
form  as  she  gracefully  moved  along;  he  had  often  witnessed  her 
kneeling  in  the  temple,  and  praying  fervently,  and  he  imagined 
that  he  in  his  turn  was  not  unnoticed  by  the  stranger.  Thus  with- 
out having  ever  spoken  to  each  other  they  had  formed  a  kind  of  ac- 
quaintance, which,  however,  did  not  disturb  Ali  in  his  contem- 
plations. As  soon  as  the  shadows  of  evening  appeared,  he  rose  and 
walked  silently  homewards,  while  his  eyes  gazed  on  the  moonlit 
waves  of  the  Tigris,  or  the  fresh  verdure  of  its  banks. 

"  How  is  it  possible,  my  son,"  once  said  his  father,  on  his  return 
from  a  long  journey,  after  his  camels  were  unladen,  "  that  you,  so 
youn^  in  years,  can  totally  renounce  the  world?  I  esteem  your  ap- 
plication ;  but  you  should  not  forget  that  next  to  our  holy  Koran, 
nature  herself  is  the  wisest  book,  and  contains  the  most  sublime 
doctrines  on  every  page.  What  is  knowledge  without  experience? 
Has  not  one  of  our  wise  men  himself  said,  that  a  journey  is  a  fire, 
around  which  the  raw  meat  must  be  turned  in  order  to  become 
eatable  and  savoury." 

"  Dear  father,"  answered  Ali,  "  leave  me  but  a  few  years  longer 
to  myself,  and  then  on  entering  the  world  I  shall  work  with  much 
more  energy.  You  were  right  in  saying  that  nature  is  the  wisest 
book ;  yet  it  is  often  written  in  so  indistinct  a  style  that  it  requires 
strong  eyes  to  see  and  read  it  correctly.  What  we  cannot  do  for 
ourselves  we  must  leave  to  others  to  do  for  us ;  and  thus  I  travel  per- 
haps as  much  in  my  own  room  as  you  do  upon  your  camel  through 
the  desert.  All  cannot  travel.  If  I  in  conformity  to  the  duty  of  a 
good  Mussulman  make  a  single  journey  in  my  life  to  Mecca,  I  shall 
perhaps  have  travelled  enough." 

Though  Ibrahim  was  not  satisfied  altogether  by  this  contradiction 
of  his  favourite  opinions,  he  could  not  help  commending  the  sin- 
gular industry  of  his  son ;  moreover,  it  was  not  displeasing  to  his 
paternal  vanity  to  hear  all  who  knew  Ali  call  him  the  pattern  of  a 
young  man. 

The  words  of  the  father  were  not,  however,  uttered  without  mak- 
ing some  impression  upon  the  son.  He  began  to  perceive  the  dif- 
ference between  mere  ideas  and  actual  enjoyments,  and  when  he  read 
of  any  thing  grand,  beautiful,  or  wonderful,  he  was  no  longer  in 
such  raptures  at  the  mere  reading.  He  now  wished  to  experience 
the  things  themselves.  When  in  this  mood,  he  often  ascended  the 
balcony  of  the  house,  where  he  had  a  clear  view  of  the  Tigris  and  the 
sandy  desert,  and  of  the  distant  mountains,  and  where,  in  serene  wea- 
ther, he  could  descry  the  ruins  of  ancient  Babylon  on  the  banks  of 
the  Euphrates.  For  whole  hours  he  would  stand  and  dream  himself 


318  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

into  the  most  wonderful  and  adventurous  situations.  When,  as  usual, 
he  went  in  the  evening  to  Izaser's  temple  under  the  date  trees,  it 
seemed  to  him  monotonous  and  insignificant.  He  fancied  he  felt 
contempt  for  himself  in  contemplating  the  rapidly  flowing  waves  of 
the  Tigris,  which  had  made  such  enormous  journeys  from  the  high- 
land of  Asia  through  caverns  and  rocks  never  yet  seen.  When 
thus  sitting  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  it  appeared  as  if  the  foaming 
waves  which  rushed  over  the  pebbles,  told  him  tales  of  events  of 
which  it  had  been  an  eye-witness  on  distant  shores. 

Now  he  resolved  again  to  wander  to  the  ruins  of  Babylon,  where 
he  had  once  been  in  his  childhood.  His  father,  who  was  delighted 
with  his  plan,  hoped  that  he  discerned  in  it  the  beginning  of  a  new 
career  of  life,  and  readily  gave  Ali  permission  to  spend  several  days 
on  the  pilgrimage. 

"  My  son,"  said  he,  "  here  in  miniature  you  will  find  a  picture  of 
the  Great,  for  short  as  the  way  is,  it  is  not  without  variety.  In  the  im- 
mediate neighbourhood  it  is  as  much  cultivated  as  the  broad  valley, 
further  on  it  is  barren  and  waste,  indeed  it  is  like  a  desert  till  the 
green  carpet  of  the  mountains  again  meets  the  sandy  plains,  and 
invites  you  to  the  most  beautiful  woody  regions.  I  should  consider 
it  superfluous  to  give  you  any  admonitions  for  the  way,  did  I  not 
know  that  young  people  like  yourself,  often  load  their  imaginations 
with  old  and  remote  things,  without  thinking  of  what  takes  place 
immediately  around  them.  Take  care,  then,  that  you  do  not  pass 
the  desert  between  Babylon  and  Bagdad  at  night  time  ;  and  rather 
arrange  your  journey  so  as  to  start  in  the  morning  or  evening. 
There  is  a  general  report  that  Zelulu,  an  evil  spirit,  has  selected  that 
desert  for  his  abode ;  and  that  he  hovers  over  the  desert  at  night, 
and  delights  in  destroying  those  men  who  disturb  his  nocturnal 
flights  by  their  presence." 

The  son  promised  to  do  so,  and  strapping  his  knapsack  on  his 
back,  commenced  his  journey  early  the  next  morning  with  staff  in 
hand. 

He  crossed  the  long  bridge  of  boats,  fastened  by  iron  chains 
across  the  rapid  Tigris,  which  takes  its  name  Thir  (an  arrow),  from 
its  rapidity.  Ali  hastened  through  the  almost  dilapidated  suburb 
and  came  to  a  beautiful  mosque,  near  which  the  caravan,  with 
which  his  father  had  lately  arrived,  was  still  halting.  They  were 
taking  rest  in  order  to  continue  their  journey.  How  strange  it 
appeared  to  him  to  wander  through  this  moveable  commercial  city, 
where  houses  were  camels,  and  elephants  were  palaces !  Ah'  passed 
one  of  these  elephants,  on  the  back  of  which  was  constructed  a  house 
of  tolerable  size.  It  was  noon,  and  the  children  who  were  playing 
about  on  the  grass  were  called  to  their  dinner.  Their  father,  who 
stood  among  them,  took  one  after  the  other  and  handed  them  over 
to  the  elephant,  who,  raising  them  with  his  trunk,  lifted  them 
slowly  and  carefully  through  the  air,  and  then  bent  his  trunk  over 
his  head,  and  gave  the  child  to  its  mother,  who  stood  above  in  the 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  319 

door  and  received  them  from  him  without  the  least  sign  of  fear,  and 
without  any  of  the  children  crying  from  terror.  The  open  mosque 
was  crowded  with  people,  some  of  whom  were  offering  thanks  to 
Allah  for  their  happy  return,  while  others  were  imploring  a  blessing 
on  the  progress  of  their  journey.  Ali  was  so  pleased  with  this  sin- 
gular and  motley  assembly,  that  he  loitered  the  whole  day  among 
them.  Towards  the  evening  some  merchants  invited  him  into  their 
tents,  where  Indian  youths  and  girls  danced  to  the  sound  of  the 
triangle  and  flute.  These  hospitable  Arabs  were  delighted  at  being 
able  to  offer  him  a  good  supper  and  a  comfortable  resting-place  for 
the  night. 

Early  in  the  cool  of  the  next  morning  he  started  on  his  way,  and 
wandered  over  a  barren  uninhabited  plain.  He  found  pleasure  in 
working  his  way  through  the  sand  to  reach  some  fertile  spots  which 
lie,  like  islands,  in  the  yellow  dust,  with  their  verdant  ground  and 
their  isolated  palm  trees,  which  pleasantly  spread  their  leaves  like 
parasols,  while  there  is  something  divine  in  their  refreshing  coolness. 

Ali  felt  himself  inspired :  the  Arab  in  his  desert  feels  like 
the  mountaineer  on  his  rocky  mountains,  and  like  the  islander 
at  the  sight  of  the  ocean.  When  he  sees  it  for  the  first  time,  he 
finds  himself  like  a  bird  in  its  own  element,  and  confidently  aban- 
dons himself  to  the  impulse  of  his  feelings.  The  over-excited  youth 
exhausted  all  his  strength.  Noon  approached,  and  the  heat  was 
oppressive.  Ali  hastened  with  quick  pace  towards  the  distant 
mountains,  and,  like  his  ancestress  Hagar,  in  former  days,  wished 
for  a  fountain  to  quench  his  thirst. 

Having  once  heard  of  a  fountain  near  the  spot  where  he  now 
was,  his  delight  was  great  on  approaching  a  large  tract  where  many 
palms  of  an  indifferent  growth  arched  themselves  over  a  spring. 
The  rippling  water  excited  and  increased  his  thirst  as  he  stood 
near  it. 

Think  of  his  sorrow  when  he  saw,  rising  from  the  water,  clouds 
of  smoke  which  smelt  of  sulphur !  In  despair  at  this  disappoint- 
ment he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  under  the  palm  trees,  and, 
being  exhausted  from  heat,  and  wearied  with  his  exertions,  fell 
asleep  immediately. 

He  had  not  been  sleeping  long,  when  he  was  suddenly  aroused 
by  a  powerful  voice.  On  opening  his  eyes  he  perceived  a  man 
in  a  loose  linen  gown,  sitting  on  a  camel  which  was  laden  with 
pitchers  and  leather  water-pipes. 

"  Unhappy  man !"  he  cried,  "  are  you  weary  of  your  life  that  you 
lie  here  so  wantonly  to  end  it?" 

Ali  jumped  up,  and  the  man  on  his  camel  started,  as  he  had  not 
expected  thus  to  arouse  the  sleeper,  although,  urged  by  compassion, 
he  had  called  to  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Ali,  "  what  harm  can  I  suffer  in 
sleeping,  during  the  heat  of  noon,  under  these  palm  trees?" 


320  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  Do  you  not  know  this  spring?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"  No !"  said  Ali ;  and  he  began  to  tell  whence  he  came  and 
whither  he  intended  to  go. 

The  man  replied,  "  It  seems  as  if  the  evil  spirit  is  busy  here,  not 
merely  at  midnight,  but  also  in  the  clear  noon  day.  Follow  me  to 
the  palm  tree  farthest  from  the  spring  there,  and  I  will  refresh  you 
with  a  cooling  draught.  I  live  in  the  next  village,  where  the  water 
is  still  so  bad  that  we  are  obliged  to  fetch  our  daily  supply  from  the 
Tigris.  All  the  pitchers  and  pipes  which  you  see,  are  filled  from 
the  river  of  your  native  city.  I  cannot  but  laugh  to  think  that  you 
come  to  us  from  the  Tigris  to  drink;  indeed  that  you  choose  the 
most  noxious  spring,  of  one  of  which  it  may  be  said  that  it  is  supplied 
by  hell  itself." 

These  words  would  have  excited  Ali's  curiosity  immediately,  had 
not  his  thirst  proved  the  stronger.  He  went  with  the  man,  who 
reached  him  a  pitcher,  and  said:  "  There,  quench  your  thirst,  and 
then  mount  my  camel  with  me.  We  shall  soon  be  in  my  village, 
where  you  can  take  rest,  and  towards  the  evening  you  may  proceed 
quietly  to  Babylon." 

Ali  thanked  him,  and  mounted  the  camel,  and  they  rode  in  silence 
across  the  plain  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  until  they  came  to  a  yet 
larger  oasis  covered  with  trees  and  huts.  Only  a  broad  sandy  road 
separated  them  from  the  verdant  ground  which  sloped  down  from 
the  mountains  towards  the  desert  in  all  its  freshness.  The  water- 
carrier  made  Ali  enter  his  hut,  where  they  mutually  invited  each 
other  as  guests,  the  former  asking  the  latter  to  partake  of  his  cooling 
sherbet,  the  latter  inviting  the  former  to  partake  of  the  good 
things  which  he  had  in  his  knapsack. 

They  had  scarcely  satisfied  their  hunger  and  thirst,  than  the 
water-carrier,  at  Ali's  request,  began  to  say  "  I  am  astonished  that 
you  have  never  heard  of  Ali  Hammamy's  spring.  Know  then  that 
this  spring,  as  I  before  said,  was  formerly  a  pure  one,  indeed  it  was 
a  mineral  spring  whither  innumerable  paralytics  resorted.  It  takes 
its  name  from  Ali,  son-in-law  of  our  holy  prophet,  who  is  said  to 
have  knelt  once  on  this  spot  to  perform  his  devotions.  Wishing  as 
a  sincere  Mussulman  to  wash  his  face  and  hands  before  prayer,  and 
finding  no  water  near,  it  is  reported  that  he  rubbed  his  hands,  in  full 
confidence  in  the  Almighty,  in  the  hot  sands,  and  that  this  imme- 
diately ran  from  his  fingers  like  limpid  water — from  this  it  is  said 
the  spring  takes  its  origin.  But  the  evil  spirits,  that  mar  every  thing 
as  far  as  they  are  able,  have,  by  Allah's  long  suffering  and  hidden 
intention,  since  taken  possession  of  this  spring,  particularly  the 
abominable  Zelulu,  who  fixes  his  nocturnal  abode  in  the  desert. 
It  is  believed  that  he  dwells  in  the  spring  ;  and  that  he  has  not 
only  corrupted  the  water,  so  that  it  has  entirely  lost  its  healing 
virtue,  but  that  it  has,  moreover,  become  poisonous  and  mortal. 
The  sulphureous  vapours  arising  from  it  infect  the  air  with  pesti- 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  321 

lence.  You  will  now  readily  understand  my  astonishment  at  find- 
ing you  asleep  there,  and  you  may  thank  your  sound  constitution 
and  my  assistance  for  your  deliverance." 

Great  was  Ali's  astonishment  on  hearing  this.  He  pressed  the 
carrier's  hand  with  gratitude,  and  some  pieces  of  gold  accompanied 
the  pressure.  The  poor  man  was  so  delighted  at  this,  that  All 
quite  forgot  the  danger  he  had  escaped  in  the  joy  of  his  companion. 
The  latter  accompanied  him  some  distance  on  his  way,  and  now  Ali 
soon  came  to  pleasant  groves  of  cypress,  maple,  and  cedar,  through 
which  he  went  down  to  the  ruins  of  Babylon  which  lay  on  the 
mighty  river. 

There  he  now  stood  surrounded  by  widely  scattered  ruins  over- 
grown with  grass  and  moss.  Some  pillars  and  fragments  of  walls 
rose  near  the  banks  and  were  reflected  in  the  waves  of  the  slowly 
flowing  Euphrates.  A  herdsman  sat  on  an  architrave  playing  his 
reed-pipe,  while  his  goats  wandered  about  browsing  on  the  grass 
between  the  stones. 

"  Do  you  know  this  place?"  asked  Ali. 

"  I  have  a  hut  in  the  neighbourhood,"  said  the  shepherd. 

"  And  what  mean  these  heaps  of  stones?" 

"  It  is  said  that  in  ancient  time  a  city  stood  upon  this  spot." 

"  Cannot  you  tell  me  something  about  it?" 

"No;  it  has  been  desolate  from  time  immemorial;  neither  my 
father  nor  my  grandfather  ever  saw  it  different." 

Ali  stood  lost  in  thought.  He  was  moved  by  seeing  the  young 
shepherd  sitting  on  the  stone  like  the  unconcerned  Present  on  the 
grave  of  the  Past, — on  the  shore  of  the  stream  of  time  which  rushes 
by  like  the  paradisaical  Euphrates,  the  river  that  saw  the  fall  of  Adam 
as  well  as  that  of  Babylon,  and  still  rolls  onwards  its  fresh  and 
youthful  waves.  Every  uncommon  mark  in  the  mouldering  stones 
delighted  him,  and  his  thoughts  were  as  much  engaged  with  sur- 
rounding objects  as  the  young  shepherd  seemed  indifferent  to  them. 
Like  Ali  he  plucked  the  grass  from  the  ruins,  though  not  like  him 
in  order  to  read  the  inscriptions,  but  to  give  to  his  goats  what  they 
were  unable  to  reach  for  themselves. 

Towards  the  evening  Ali  set  out  on  his  way  back  to  Bagdad, 
and  wandered  thoughtfully  over  the  plain.  The  evening  was  cool 
and  bright,  and  after  he  had  proceeded  a  few  hundred  paces,  his 
eyes  already  discerned  Bagdad.  He  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
hasten,  feeling  sure  that  he  must  soon  reach  the  city,  but  loitered 
long  on  the  charming  verdant  spots  in  the  sandy  plain.  The  moon 
arose  and  shone  so  brightly,  that  the  night  appeared  almost  as 
light  as  day.  Hence  Ali  did  not  take  any  account  of  the  time ;  he 
felt  weary,  and  seeing  a  large  stone  at  some  distance  from  him  in 
which  seats  were  cut  out,  he  could  not  resist  sitting  down  and,  with 
his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  gazing  over  the  calm,  clear,  and  cool, 
desert  before  him.  The  wind  was  rustling  through  the  palms  over 
his  head.  Conceive  his  astonishment  when  the  wind  was  suddenly 


322  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI, 

hushed,  and  when  he  again  heard  the  spring  ripple  a  few  yards  off, 
and  smelt  the  noxious  vapours  which  the  breezes  had  before  wafted 
to  the  opposite  side. 

Terrified,  he  jumped  up  and  ran  back  more  than  a  hundred  yards. 
He  saw  that  a  thunder-storm  was  suddenly  approaching.  By  the 
dim  moonlight,  which  every  moment  threatened  to  be  obscured  by 
the  black  clouds,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  path  that  would 
lead  him  home.  However,  he  hastened  onwards,  and  cursed  the 
habit  which,  on  the  slightest  occasion,  always  misled  him  to  shut  him- 
self up  from  surrounding  objects,  like  flowers  which  close  in  the 
evening,  so  that  he  did  not  think  where  he  was,  or  what  took  place 
near  him.  It  grew  darker  and  darker,  thick  clouds  obscured  the 
moon,  loud  thunder  rolled  over  his  head,  but  not  a  drop  of  rain  de- 
scended. A  burning  wind  rushed  through  the  desert  and  stirred 
up  the  sand,  so  that  he  was  obliged  every  minute  to  shut  his  eyes. 

"  Are  there  really  evil  spirits  living,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  can 
hurt  man?  No ;  innocence  is  the  real  great  seal  of  Solomon,  which  not 
even  the  terrible  Eblis  dares  to  break."  He  had  scarcely  uttered  these 
words  than  a  frightful  darkness  forced  him  to  stand  still.  Suddenly 
the  sky  and  earth  were  burning  with  a  pale  flame,  a  forked  flash  of 
lightning  shot  over  his  head,  and  struck  a  hollow  tree  close  by  his 
side.  At  the  same  time  a  pelting  shower  of  rain  streamed  from 
the  clouds,  and  Ali  fell  to  the  ground,  stunned  by  the  tremendous 
thunder-claps.  Thus  he  lay  for  some  time.  At  length  all  became 
calm,  and  he  arose;  but  what  was  his  horror  when  he  saw  against 
the  deep  blue  moonlit  sky,  a  monstrous  black  giant  standing  on 
the  plain  !  The  huge  head  reached  high  in  the  air,  and  looked  upon 
Ali  with  a  large  sparkling  eye.  Ali  was  about  to  flee,  but  fear 
paralysed  his  feet.  Trembling,  he  again  turned  his  face  towards  the 
formidable  figure  which  he  fancied  would  crush  him.  How  sur- 
prised and  delighted  was  he  on  discovering  that  the  formidable  monster 
was  nothing  but  a  large  black  cloud,  the  last  remnant  of  the  thunder- 
storm, with  an  opening  in  the  centre,  through  which  the  moon  was 
beaming !  This  discovery  restored  his  courage  as  quickly  as  he  had 
before  lost  it.  He  now  perceived  that  the  whole  was  nothing  more 
than  a  natural  phenomenon,  such,  doubtless,  as  had  often  occurred  in 
this  narrow  valley,  and  had  given  rise  to  the  superstition  of  the 
people.  He  now  proceeded  onwards  with  fresh  vigour,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  he  crossed  the  bridge  of  the  Tigris  with  a  light 
heart,  delighted  at  having  so  fortunately  completed  his  adventure. 
But  the  black,  Zelulu  (for  he  it  really  was  who  amused  himself 
with  deceiving  the  conceited  youth),  stared  smiling  after  him  with 
his  glowing  eye,  and  then  burst  out  into  such  loud  laughter,  that 
the  palms  of  the  desert  trembled.  Then,  shaking  the  mane  of  his 
monstrous  head,  he  folded  up  the  large  airy  bulk  of  his  body  and 
floated  over  the  spring,  where,  forming  himself  into  a  pillar,  he  sud- 
denly rushed  down  with  a  tremendous  howl.  From  this  time  he 
determined  to  persecute  the  youth. 


ALT  AND  GULHYNDI.  323 

All,  on  liis  return,  found  his  father's  house  in  the  greatest  state  of 
confusion  and  distress.  His  father  was  not  there,  and  when  he  asked  after 
him,  an  old  slave  said  to  him,  "  Unhappy  son,  at  this  moment  the 
executioner  is  perhaps  inflicting  the  fatal  wound  on  him."  Ali 
stood  speechless  and  pale.  The  cause  of  the  unhappy  event  was  as 
follows : 

Ibrahim  bore  an  implacable  hatred  against  Hussain,  Cadi  of  Bag- 
dad, and  the  latter  entertained  a  similar  feeling  in  return ;  nay,  people 
in  the  city  were  wont  to  name  Ibrahim  and  Hussain  if  they  wished 
to  cite  an  instance  of  two  irreconcileable  enemies.  Both  had  been  edu- 
cated, after  the  death  of  their  parents,  in  the  house  of  a  mutual  rela- 
tive. Nothing  can  be  worse  than  men  of  an  entirely  opposite  dis- 
position being  compelled  to  hold  daily  intercourse;  repugnance  and 
hatred  increase  more  and  more,  and  their  conversation,  becomes  a 
constant  feud.  Hussain  was  proud  and  gloomy;  Ibrahim  vehement 
and  animated.  Daily  did  they  reproach  each  other  ;  the  former 
considering  the  latter  a  frivolous  sensualist,  the  latter  considering  the 
former  a  cold,  selfish  egotist.  As  they  ^advanced  in  years  their 
hatred  increased.  Their  guardian  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  whom 
both,  as  members  of  the  family,  had  opportunities  of  seeing.  Ibrahim 
fell  in  love  with  her,  and  hoped  that  his  affections  would  be  returned, 
and  the  father's  consent  obtained.  But  as  Hussain.  by  his  natural 
talent,  industry,  and  perseverance,  soon  raised  himself  to  an  im- 
portant station,  he  obtained,  contrary  to  Ibrahim's  expectation,  the 
consent  of  the  beautiful  Mirza  and  her  parent.  Ibrahim  was  so 
enraged  at  this,  that  out  of  revenge  he  shortly  after  took  two  wives. 
One  presented  him  with  Ali  at  the  cost  of  her  own  life.  Mirza  lived 
with  Hussain  for  some  years  before  she  bore  him  a  daughter.  Some 
time  had  now  past,  Mirza  had  died,  and  separation,  which  usually 
weakens  enmity  as  well  as  friendship,  had  almost  extinguished  the 
hatred  of  the  cheerful  Ibrahim.  An  occurrence,  however,  showed 
that  it  still  burned  fiercely  in  the  heart  of  the  haughty  Hussain ; 
and  this  poured  fresh  oil  into  Ibrahim's  fire,  which,  as  it  appeared, 
death  alone  could  now  extinguish. 

Two  years  ago,  Ibrahim  had  returned  from  a  journey,  and 
among  other  precious  articles,  had  brought  with  him  some  Indian 
gold  cloth,  such  as  had  never  been  seen  before.  Hussain  heard  of 
this,  and  as  his  daughter  had  grown  up  to  be  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  maidens  in  Bagdad,  his  paternal  pride  was  set  upon  adorn- 
ing his  lovely  child  by  all  the  means  of  art  and  of  wealth.  He  had 
seen  the  cloth  in  passing  Ibrahim's  shop,  but  not  wishing  to  pur- 
chase it  himself,  had  sent  a  slave  to  Ibrahim,  and  commissioned  him 
to  settle  the  bargain.  Ibrahim  looked  upon  this  as  the  first  step 
towards  a  reconciliation  on  the  part  of  Hussain;  and  being  of  a 
more  forgiving  disposition  than  he,  and,  moreover,  being  in  a 
cheerful  humour,  in  anticipation  of  a  happy  future,  he  gave  the 
cloth  to  the  slave,  telling  him  to  say^  to  Hussain,  that  he  wished  him 
to  accept  of  it  as  a  token  of  former  friendship.  A  short  time  after  this, 


324  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

the  slave  returned  with  the  cloth,  and  said  that  his  master  had  looked 
upon  it  as  a  great  insult,  that  a  merchant  presumed  to  offer  presents 
to  the  cadi,  as  these  must  always  look,  more  or  less,  like  bribes  ; 
and  that  Ibrahim  ought  to  name  a  price  for  it,  as  the  cadi  was  quite 
able  to  pay  for  it,  although  he  did  not  every  year  bring  home  riches 
on  his  mules.  This  haughty  answer  was  so  revolting  to  Ibrahim, 
that  he  took  the  cloth  from  the  slave's  hands,  and  tearing  it  to  pieces, 
exclaimed :  "  Tell  your  master,  that  thus  I  tear  the  last  bonds  of  our 
former  friendship, — that  I  tear  up  by  the  roots  the  flowers  which 
childhood  had  woven  into  the  golden  ground  of  our  life." 

Late  in  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  this  had  happened,  and 
after  Ibrahim  had  for  some  time  shut  up  his  shop,  he  heard  a  knock 
at  the  door.  He  went  and  opened  it,  but  did  not  see  any  body.  He 
had  scarcely  gone  away,  when  the  knocking  was  repeated.  He 
opened  again,  and  again  saw  no  one.  Vexed  at  this,  he  was  re- 
turning to  his  room,  when  suddenly  a  louder  knocking  than  before 
was  heard.  He  now  ran  quickly  to  the  door,  and  burst  it  open,  in 
hopes  of  meeting  the  insolent  person  who  was  thus  tantalising  him. 
As  soon  as  he  had  opened  it,  there  stood  outside  a  pretty,  middle- 
aged  woman  in  black,  holding  a  staff  in  her  hand.  "  What  do  you 
want?"  cried  Ibrahim. 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make,  friend,"  said  she.  "  My  beautiful 
daughter  is  soon  to  be  married  ;  I  am  poor,  and  cannot  afford  a 
handsome  bridal  dress,  such  as  she  deserves.  Give  me  the  gold 
cloth  which  you  have  torn  to-day ;  it  will  be  good  enough  for  us, 
and  has  lost  its  greatest  value  for  you.  If  old  friends  forsake  us, 
we  must  look  for  new  ones." 

Ibrahim,  who  was  liberal,  gave  her  the  cloth,  which  she  con- 
templated attentively,  and  then  said:  "  It  has  suffered  great  injury; 
it  will  cost  pains  to  stick  it  together  again;  still  it  can  be  reme- 
died." Upon  this  she  saluted  Ibrahim  kindly,  and  went  away,  and 
he  never  again  saw  her. 

Ibrahim  now  gave  daily  vent  to  his  anger  in  vehement  words 
against  Hussain;  and  whatever  he  said  was  reported  to  the  latter, 
with  additions,  so  that  the  enraged  cadi  only  watched  for  an  opportu- 
nity to  take  revenge.  This  occurred  sooner  than  he  expected.  The 
kind,  mild  government  of  Haroun  al  Raschid,  however  beneficent  in 
some  respects,  produced  in  a  certain  degree  disagreeable  consequences 
for  himself.  The  populace  had  scarcely  perceived  that  they  were  not 
forced  to  tremble  slavishly  before  the  noble  caliph,  than  they  began 
to  censure  his  conduct  and  calumniate  him,  with  the  greatest  auda- 
city. For  some  time  he  allowed  this  to  pass  unnoticed.  But  the 
insolence  increased;  and  he  now  all  at  once  issued  orders,  that 
any  one  presuming  to  revile  the  actions  of  the  caliph  should  be 
executed  without  mercy.  This  order  had  been  made  public  a  few  days 
after  Ibrahim's  return,  indeed  on  the  very  morning  when  his  son 
had  gone  to  Babylon.  Being  much  engaged,  he  remained  at  home 
during  that  morning,  and  it  was  not  till  nearly  evening  that  he  went 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  325 

to  a  khan,  where  he  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  a  few  hours  every 
day.  He  had  not  spoken  to  any  person,  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
proclamation.  He  had  scarcely  entered  the  khan,  when  a  crier  came 
through  the  street,  exclaiming  that  every  one  should  step  aside  to 
make  way,  as  Zobcidc,  the  favourite  wife  of  the  caliph  was  about  to 
pass  with  her  slaves.  Ibrahim,  Avho  was  in  a  merry  mood,  and  did 
not  often  weigh  his  words  nicely,  said:  "They  call  Haroun  al 
Raschid  the  wisest  man.  It  may  be  that  he  possesses  singular  qua- 
lities; but  as  regards  women,  he  is  the  weakest  creature  that  I  ever 
knew.  My  son,  who  is  twenty  years  old,  is  ten  times  wiser  on  that 
score  than  he  is." 

Ibrahim  had  no  sooner  said  these  words,  than  he  was  seized  by 
the  officers  of  the  cadi,  and  brought  before  Hussain.  His  grief  can 
easily  be  conceived,  when  he  heard  the  sentence  of  death.  He 
entreated  Hussain,  in  the  name  of  their  youthful  friendship,  to  save 
his  life. 

"You  yourself  have  violated  our  friendship,"  replied  the  latter, 
coldly;  "  there  are  here  witnesses  of  your  words,  and  I  cannot  save 
you.  All  I  can  do  is,  to  bring  you  to  the  Commander  of  the  Faith- 
ful, who  wishes  to  see  the  first  violator  of  his  proclamation,  and  to 
witness  his  execution." 

So  far  the  old  slave  related.  Ali  was  paralysed  with  horror;  a 
messenger  from  the  caliph  first  recalled  him  to  consciousness.  "  Do 
you  bring  me  his  gray  head?"  asked  Ali;  "  has  the  axe  already  dyed 
his  thin  silvery  hair  with  blood?" 

"  I  will  bring  you  to  your  father,"  replied  the  messenger.  "  The 
caliph  has  granted  him  permission  to  take  leave  of  his  son  before  he 
dies." 

"Is  he  still  living?"  cried  Ali,  and  he  hastened  to  the  palace. 
On  entering  it,  he  saw  the  caliph  sitting  on  his  throne ;  while  before 
him  his  father,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him,  was  kneeling  on  a 
carpet.  A  silver  basin  stood  near,  and  the  executioner  had  already 
drawn  his  bright,  sharp  sword.  Ali  embraced  his  father. 

"  I  cannot  clasp  you  in  my  arms,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man, 
"but  I  die  for  your  sake;  parental  fondness  made  my  lips  utter 
those  words." 

"  Untie  his  hands!"  cried  the  caliph;  "  let  him  embrace  his  son 
before  he  dies." 

Ali  threw  himself  at  the  caliph's  feet,  and  said,  imploringly: 
"  Restore  me  my  father." 

"  I  pity  your  fate,"  said  Haroun  al  Raschid,  with  emotion,  "  but 
I  have  sworn  that  the  blood  of  him  who  should  revile  my  majesty 
and  benevolence  shall  flow." 

"  Oh!  then  there  is  hope  of  delivery,"  cried  Ali.  "  Am  I  not 
blood  of  my  father's  blood  r  Let,  then,  my  blood  flow  for  his,  that 
I  may  fall  a  sacrifice  to  your  revenge,  and  that  my  death  may  release 
you  from  your  oath." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  dare  to  offer  me,  young  man?"  said  the 


326  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

caliph,  sternly.  "  Do  not  think  to  soften  my  heart  by  a  trick  so 
common !  What  I  have  determined  is  unalterable,  and  in  the  name 
of  Almighty  God  I  tell  you  your  tears  cannot  move  me." 

Ali  knelt  down.  "  Strike !"  he  cried  to  the  slave,  as  he  stretched 
out  his  neck. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  my  son?"  cried  the  old  man. 

"I  imitate  my  father,"  said  Ali.  "From  love  to  me  you  have 
exposed  yourself  to  death,  from  love  to  you  I  will  suffer  it  for  you." 

"  And  your  mistress — how  will  she  wring  her  white  hands !" 
said  the  caliph. 

"  Commander  of  the  Faithful,  I  have  none,"  said  AH. 

"  How?  Have  you  no  passion?  has  not  all-powerful  love  struck 
root  in  your  heart?" 

"  I  love  God,"  said  Ali,  "  my  father,  and  you,  my  liege,  even  in 
death;  for  I  know  that  you  are  otherwise  good  and  just;  I  love 
nature,  men,  and  every  thing  beautiful  that  nourishes  and  lives  ; 
but  no  woman  has  yet  awakened  a  passion !" 

"  Then  Ibrahim  was  right,"  cried  Haroun  al  Raschid,  laughing; 
"  then  you  are  really  wiser  than  the  caliph.  Rise,  my  friends,"  he 
continued,  "  neither  of  you  shall  die.  Ibrahim  has  not  violated  my 
law  ;  he  knew  it  not.  He  has  not  praised  his  son  at  the  expense 
of  the  caliph  ;  my  oath  does  not  require  his  blood.  Forgive  me 
the  terrors  of  death  which  I  have  caused  you.  A  prince  has  seldom 
an  opportunity  of  looking  into  the  secrets  of  the  heart  with  his  own 
eyes.  Only  on  the  boundary  which  separates  death  from  life,  all  con- 
siderations disappear,  and  only  thus  could  I  discover  in  you  a  virtue 
which  I  now  admire.  Go  home,  honest  Ibrahim,  you  are  healthy 
and  cheerful,  by  nature,  so  that  this  shock  will  not  be  attended  with 
any  dangerous  consequences.  And  you,  wise  Ali,"  he  continued, 
smiling,  "  I  will  see  you  again  a  year  hence,  and  learn  whether 
you  are  then  as  wise  as  you  are  now."  As  soon  as  he  had  con- 
cluded, he  dismissed  them,  and  sent  them  home  laden  with  splendid 
presents. 

Hussain  was  an  eye-witness  of  the  scene.  It  may  easily  be  con- 
ceived how  this  sudden  act  of  grace  inflamed  his  hatred,  and  with 
what  triumph  the  father  and  son  returned  home  a^ain. 

Ibrahim  lived  happily  with  his  son,  who  applied  himself  anew, 
with  great  industry,  to  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  Once  a 
slave  came  to  Ali's  room  and  begged  him  to  come  down,  as  his 
father  had  purchased  something  for  him  in  the  market.  He  went 
down  accordingly,  and  was  much  surprised  at  seeing  a  little,  de- 
formed creature,  dressed  as  a  slave,  standing  before  him.  The  little 
man  wore  a  high  hat,  with  a  cock's  feather,  on  his  head ;  his  chest, 
as  well  as  his  back,  formed  a  hump;  his  squinting  eyes  were  of 
a  pale  gray,  like  those  of  a  cat ;  and  his  nose  hung  over  his  mouth 
like  a  bunch  of  grapes,  and  was  of  a  violet  colour.  For  the  rest,  he 
was  cheerful,  brisk,  and  healthy,  notwithstanding  all  his  excrescences; 
and  with  his  right  eye,  which  was  triangular,  he  looked  attentively 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  327 

at  AH,  whilst  the  left  was  concealed  in  the  angle  between  the  nose 
and  forehead. 

Whilst  AH  stood  wondering  at  this  paragon  of  human  ugliness, 
his  father  could  not  suppress  his  laughter,  and  said:  "  Have  I  not 
been  to  the  market  at  a  lucky  moment  ?  An  hour  afterwards  it 
would  have  been  too  late,  so  numerous  were  those  who  wished  to 
purchase  him.  I  owe  it  to  my  prompt  decision  that  I  got  him 
for  two  hundred  pieces  of  gold.  Only  think,  my  wise  son,  you 
lock  yourself  up  within  four  walls,  to  suck,  like  a  bee,  sweetness 
from  old  manuscripts;  and  yet  this  hunchback  slave,  who  never 
has  had  time  to  sit  at  home  and  pore  over  books,  is  declared 
by  the  opinion  of  all  connoisseurs,  to  be  unequalled  in  learning 
throughout  Arabia  and  Persia.  You  may  easily  see  it  in  him; 
wisdom  breaks  forth  in  every  part  of  him,  and,  therefore,  great  must 
be  the  superfluity  within  !  Take  him  with  you ;  I  present  him  to 
you  to  assist  you  in  your  studies,  and  divert  you  in  your  hours  of 
leisure." 

When  AH  had  returned  to  his  room  attended  by  his  deformed 
slave,  and  the  latter  saw  the  great  quantity  of  books  and  parch- 
ments which  laid  about  in  every  direction,  he  raised  his  hands  in 
amazement,  and  cried  with  warmth,  "  The  wise  Confucius  might 
well  say,  '  Blessed  is  he  who  recognises  the  end  of  his  destiny ! 
The  way  that  he  must  go  to  reach  his  goal  stands  marked  before  his 
eyes.  Uncertainty  and  doubt  leave  him  as  soon  as  he  enters  on  that 
way.  Peace  and  tranquillity  strew  roses  on  his  path/  But  he  also 
truly  said,  *  Unhappy  is  he  who  mistakes  the  branches  of  the  tree 
for  its  roots,  the  leaves  for  fruit,  the  shadow  for  the  substance,  and 
who  knoweth  not  how  to  distinguish  the  means  from  the  end.' " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  AH. 

"  Sadi  has  said,"  replied  the  little  slave,  "that  the  most  unpro- 
fitable of  human  beings,  is  a  learned  man  who  does  not  benefit  his 
fellow-creatures  by  his  learning ;  we  hear  the  mill  clapping  but  see 
no  flour;  a  word  without  a  deed  is  a  cloud  without  rain,  and  a  bow 
without  a  string." 

AH  now  wished  to  try  whether  the  knowledge  of  the  slave  went 
beyond  these  and  similar  maxims.  He  examined  him  and  was 
astonished  at  his  proficiency  in  the  Arabian,  Persian,  Hindoo,  and 
Chinese  philosophy. 

"  What  is  your  name?"  continued  AH. 

"  When  I  was  born,"  replied  the  hunchback,  "  my  mother  was  of 
opinion  that  I  was  so  easily  distinguishable  as  to  require  no  name, 
thinking  that  people  would  soon  enough  separate  the  ram  from  the 
goats  without  tying  a  red  ribbon  round  his  neck." 

"  Are  you  a  Mohammedan?"  asked  AH,  again. 

"  Mahomet  could  neither  read  nor  write;  I  worship  Mithra;  to 
him  I  bow  the  knee,  not  to  the  rising  in  the  east  but  to  the  setting  in 
the  west." 

"  Then  you  worship  the  sun?" 

z 


328  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  The  sun  itself  is  cold,  and  produces  warmth  only  when  com- 
bined with  the  atmosphere  of  our  earth.  The  fire  has  beautiful 
yellow  locks  and  sparkling  eyes,  it  vivifies  every  thing  with  its 
love,  and  burns  most  beautifully  at  night." 

"  Still  I  must  call  you  by  a  name,"  said  Ali. 

"  I  am  as  diminutive,  deformed,  and  ugly,  as  the  renowned 
Lockman"  said  the  slave,  "and  he  was  as  shrewd  and  knew  as 
much  as  I  do.  It  was  the  same  with  jEsop.  Many  are  of  opinion 
that  they  are  one  and  the  same  person ;  if  this  may  be  said  of  two  it 
may  also  be  applied  to  three.  Call  me  Lockman,  and  believe  in  the 
metempsychosis.  It  is  the  cheapest  belief,  as  it  costs  the  creator 
least.'; 

AH  knew  not  whether  to  smile  or  be  angry  at  this  frivolous  joke. 
Indeed,  he  did  not  know  whether  he  was  joking;  for  every  thing 
that  Lockman  (as  we  shall  call  the  slave,)  said,  was  mixed  with  a 
certain  serious  grimace  which  again  frequently  changed  into  sar- 
castic ridicule. 

On  the  same  evening  Ali  read  aloud  the  following  passage  from 
Zoroaster's  "Wisdom:" 

"  The  power  hath  work'd  from  all  eternity: 
Two  angels  are  its  subjects — Virtue,  Vice, 
Of  light  and  darkness  mingled;— aye  at  war. 
When  Virtue  conquers,  doubled  is  the  light ; 
When  Vice  prevails  the  black  abyss  is  glad. 
To  the  last  day  the  struggle  shall  endure. 
Then  Virtue  shall  have  joy,  and  Vice  have  pain, 
And  never  more  these  enemies  shall  meet." 

When  Ali  had  read  thus  far,  Lockman,  who  was  still  in  the 
room,  had  so  violent  a  bleeding  at  the  nose  that  he  was  obliged  to 
leave  it,  and  Ali  saw  him  no  more  that  evening. 

Early  in  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by  a  singing  which 
ascended  from  the  garden.  He  opened  the  window  and  heard  a 
hoarse,  though  well  practised  voice,  sing  the  following  words : 

"  Lovely  spring  returns  again, 

And  his  merry  glance  is  warm, 
And  he  sings  a  lively  strain, 
But  the  youth  he  cannot  charm. 

"  Rosebuds  all  their  fragrance  shed, 
But  his  heart  they  cannot  move, 
Seeking  joys  for  ever  fled, 
Through  the  ruins  he  must  rove. 

"  Does  he  dwell  amid  the  flowers, 
By  some  kindly  beauty  blest? 
No;  amid  the  ruin'd  towers, 
Where  the  screech  owl  builds  her  nest. 

"  No  fair  arms  around  him  cling, 
Ne'er  he  tastes  a  honied  kiss; 
Songs  that  ancient  dreamers  sing, 
Those  alone  afford  liim  bliss. 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  329 

"  Wake  him  from  this  sullen  sleep, 

Lovely  spring  thy  pow'r  display, 
Or  the  youth  too  late  will  weep, 
For  the  joys  he  flings  away."* 

AH  went  into  the  garden,  and  found  Lockman  sitting  under  a 
tree  with  a  guitar  in  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  sing  too?"  asked  Ali. 

"  If  the  screeching  of  an  owl  can  be  called  singing,"  replied 
he,  "  I  sing  like  the  feathered  songster  of  the  grove." 

"  Your  guitar  has  a  pleasant  sound." 

"  That  it  learned  from  a  sheep  when  a  wolf  struck  its  claws  into 
its  entrails." 

"  What  were  you  singing?" 

"  A  poor  song  on  a  great  subject  composed  by  one  of  those  poets 
who  always  entreat  us  to  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  Do  you  wish 
to  hear  another?" 

He  sung  again. 

"  Sure  some  madness  it  must  be, 

Thus  the  present  hour  to  slight, 

And  to  take  thy  sole  delight 
In  the  tales  of  memory. 
Why  shouldst  thou  thy  time  despise? 
Why  the  past  thus  fondly  prize? 

Seek'st  thou  only  what  is  gone? 
Nay,  what  is't  thou  wouldst  recall? 
Dreamy  pleasures — that  is  all; 

Fit  for  puling  babes  alone. 

"  Nay,  suppose  this  honor'd  Past 
Should  return  to  thee  at  last, 
Friend,  thou  soon  wouldst  say: '  The  star 
Shines  more  brightly  when  afar.' 
When  the  Future's  sunbeams  glow, 
Fancy  paints  a  glittering  bow; 
O'er  the  cloudy  Past  'tis  spread, 
Venture  near,  and  it  has  fled. 
In  the  centre  thou  shouldst  be, 
If  thou  wouldst  the  magic  see." 

From  this  time  Ali,  as  usual,  went  frequently  to  Izaser's  temple, 
attended  by  Lockman. 

"  Why  do  you  always  go  this  way?"  he  once  asked  Ali.  "  Are 
not  the  other  suburbs  also  beautiful?" 

"  I  do  not  know  them  as  well  as  these,"  replied  Ali.  "  This 
neighbourhood  has  been  familiar  to  me  from  childhood;  every  step 
recalls  to  my  memory  some  moment  of  my  past  life,  and  cannot,  there- 
fore, but  be  most  dear  to  me." 

When  they  were  on  the  point  of  going  out  on  the  following  day, 
Lockman  had  put  off  the  handsome  dress  which  Ali  had  given  to 
him,  and  appeared  again  in  his  former  tattered  slave's  coat. 

*  Both  in  this  and  the  following  song  a  verse  has  been  omitted,  as  unsuitable  to 
the  general  English  reader. 

z2 


330  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  AH.  "Why  have  you  again  put  on 
those  rags?  Have  I  not  given  you  a  good,  decent  suit?" 

"  Forgive  me,  master,"  said  he,  "I  am  not  so  familiar  with  my 
new  suit  as  with  this:  this  has  been  familiar  to  me  in  my  early  life, 
every  hole  and  every  rent  recalls  to  my  memory  some  past  moment, 
and  therefore  cannot  but  be  extremely  dear  to  me." 

Ali  understood  him,  and  found  that  he  was  not  altogether  wrong. 
"  Go  back,"  said  he,  "  and  put  on  your  new  suit,  and  then  I  will 
go  another  way  with  you." 

They  went  out  at  the  opposite  gate  which  brought  them  to  an- 
other winding  of  the  Tigris.  Here  they  found  many  gardens  sur- 
rounded by  high  walls,  between  which  were  beautiful  avenues  of 
trees,  and  stone  benches  for  the  repose  of  travellers.  Ali  sat  down 
on  one  of  these  benches,  and,  having  looked  round  for  some  time, 
sank  as  usual  into  a  deep  reverie.  When  he  had  awakened  from  it 
he  was  going  to  ask  Lockman  for  something,  but  not  seeing  him, 
was  obliged  to  call  him  several  times.  Upon  which  his  slave  ap- 
peared from  a  thick  copse  adjoining  the  wall. 

"  Come,  Lockman,"  cried  Ali,  "  I  want  you  to  tell  me  some- 
thing." 

"  Such  things  cannot  be  told  at  all,"  replied  the  latter,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  hear  trite  similes  of  rosy  cheeks,  ruby  lips,  pearly 
teeth,  lily  hands,  bosoms  like  pomegranates  covered  with  snow, 
eyebrows  like  rainbows?  Come  and  see  for  yourself,  for  you  will 
behold  an  incomparable  beauty,  who  being  a  female  is  probably  not 
always  the  same." 

Ali  approached  the  copse,  where,  through  a  hole  in  a  wall,  he 
could  see  into  a  beautiful  garden,  with  splendid  jets  d'eau  which 
fell  into  basins  of  marble.  A  lovely  female  form  was  sitting  on  the 
turf,  and  many  other  beautiful  girls  surrounded  her  as  the  paler 
lights  of  heaven  surround  the  evening  star.  Her  youth  was 
in  its  highest  splendour,  and  was  adorned  with  those  beautiful 
colours  which  are  otherwise  found  only  in  the  most  dissimilar  ob- 
jects in  nature,  and  which  Lockman  had  named.  But  Ali  per- 
ceived besides,  a  grace  playing  on  her  lips,  and  a  spirit  in  her 
eyes  such  as  we  see  neither  in  the  lustre  of  rubies  nor  in  that  of 
diamonds.  Innocence  and  infantine  serenity  animated  her  counte- 
nance; her  movements  were  natural  and  easy,  like  those  of  a  Zephyr; 
and  from  the  affability  which  she  showed  to  her  attendants,  Ali 
inferred  the  gentleness  of  her  disposition.  He  stood  enraptured 
in  the  contemplation  of  this  beauty,  believing  that  he  beheld 
an  angelic  being.  A  deep  red  was  suddenly  suffused  over  his  face, 
while,  beckoning  to  his  slave,  he  retired  from  the  wall.  He  looked 
in  again,  and  perceived  that  her  slaves  were  undressing  her. 
Her  long  hair  already  fell  over  her  bare  shoulders,  and  her  white 
garment  floated  loosely  round  her  beautiful  bosom.  Officious  hands 
loosened  the  tight  bodice,  and  from  all  the  preparations  it  was  evi- 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  331 

dent  that  she  was  about  to  take  a  refreshing  bath  in  the  hour  of 
evening. 

"  Master,"  cried  Lockman,  "  in  the  name  of  Allah  and  the  pro- 
phet, pray  wait  and  continue  watching." 

Ali,  incensed,  took  him  by  the  collar  and  threw  him  backwards. 
"  Oh,  you  are  not  in  your  senses,"  cried  the  slave,  vexed,  as  he 
followed  him;  "  you  shut  your  mouth  close  that  you  may  not  enjoy 
the  manna  in  the  wilderness  which  falls  from  heaven ;  you  will  not 
take  a  refreshing  draught  in  the  desert  when  it  is  offered.  You  are 
no  Mussulman.  A  Mussulman  loves  sensual  pleasure,  the  prophet 
has  permitted  it  to  us  in  this  life,  and  promised  it  in  the  next." 

"  The  prophet  did  not  enjoin  what  he  permitted,"  said  Ali. 
"  As  the  angel  took  out  of  his  heart  the  black  drops  in  which  were 
concealed  the  seeds  of  evil,  in  the  same  manner  also  can  the  angel 
purify  the  heart  of  every  man." 

"  You  are  no  true  Mussulman,"  said  Lockman,  "  neither  war  nor 
sensual  pleasure  delight  you." 

"No,"  replied  Ali,  "  they  do  not;  but  courage  and  love  do." 
"  Go  to  the  foggy  Europe,"  cried  Lockman;  "  you  are  no  Asiatic; 
the  prophet  of  Nazareth  has  misled  you.     Your  virtue  is  not  an 
active  one,  it  is  only  abstinence;  your  life  is  but  a  continued  pre- 
paration for  death." 

Ali  broke  off  the  conversation,  and  went  away  vexed,  but  soon 
forgot  Lockman.  The  lovely  maiden  on  the  turf  was  still  present 
to  his  imagination  in  all  her  beauty. 

In  anxious  expectation  he  waited  for  the  next  evening,  and  went 
unattended  by  Lockman. 

On  first  arriving  he  sat  down,  and  meditated  to  whom  this  gar- 
den could  possibly  belong.  He  then  walked  several  times  up  and 
down  the  avenue  between  the  walls,  and  not  seeijig  any  one  near, 
could  not  resist  stopping  by  the  hedge  and  looking  through  the 
hole  into  the  garden.  However  he  saw  no  one,  for  the  garden 
was  forsaken.  On  the  turf,  opposite  the  jet  cTeau,  lay  a  rose  which 
he  wished  to  possess.  As  he  still  stood  gazing  some  one  tapped 
him  softly  on  the  shoulder,  upon  which  he  looked  around,  and  saw 
standing  before  him  a  middle-aged  and  affable  woman,  who  asked 
him  smiling, 

"  What  are  you  looking  after,  young  gentleman?" 
Ali  was  embarrassed. 

"  You  need  not  answer,"  said  she.  ''  Your  little  dwarf  has  been 
here  this  morning,  and  has  settled  every  thing  with  me.  My  mis- 
tress is  very  anxious  to  see  you." 

And  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  took  Ali  by  the  hand, 
and  led  him  through  an  open  garden  door  into  a  thick  arbour 
where  she  left  him. 

The  beautiful  Gulhyndi  came  to  meet  him  dressed  in  a  fine  black 
suit  of  satin  with  short  sleeves,  which  enhanced  the  natural  white- 
ness of  her  arms,  hands,  and  neck.  Her  hair  flowed  in  long  tresses 


332  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

down  her  back ;  and  a  deep  bodice  set  with  precious  stones  encircled 
her  slender  waist. 

44  You  will  be  surprised,  sir,"  she  said  with  natural  freedom  from 
embarrassment,  "  at  being  brought  so  suddenly  before  a  young 
girl  whom  you  do  not  know.  I  will  at  once  free  you  from  the  state 
of  uncertainty  in  which  you  might  easily  remain  to  iny  disad- 
vantage. Know  then  that  I  have  hazarded  this  step  as  the  only 
means  of  becoming  acquainted  with  a  man  of  such  excellent  qua- 
lities, whose  intellectual  conversation  I  have  long  wished  to  enjoy. 
It  is  not  for  the  first  time  that  we  see  each  other ;  indeed,  we  have 
known  each  other  for  a  long  time." 

The  fair  one  now  took  a  long  veil  which  concealed  her  face, 
leaving  a  small  opening  only  for  the  eyes,  walked  a  few  paces  up 
and  down,  and  then  asked  him,  "  Do  you  know  me  thus?" 

Ali  started;  it  was  his  unknown  friend  of  Izaser's  temple. 

44 1  am  certain  you  now  know  me.  My  name  is  Gulhyndi.  I 
have  long  known  you,  and  better  than  you  imagine.  A  pious 
dervish  with  whom  I  often  conversed  in  the  temple  on  holy  things, 
frequently  spoke  of  you ;  and  I  will  not  deny,"  she  continued, 
blushing,  "  that  your  appearance  seems  to  confirm  me  in  what  I 
have  heard  of  you.  My  nurse,  who  is  a  Christian,  has  exerted  a 
great  influence  upon  my  education.  We  poor  Arab  women  are 
condemned  to  sit  like  prisoners  in  a  cage  without  receiving  instruc- 
tion or  any  cultivation  for  our  minds.  But  I  can  bear  it  no  longer, 
and  beseech  you,  noble  young  Mussulman,  who  surpass  in  sense  and 
judgment  so  many  of  your  age,  not  to  make  me  repent  a  step  which 
reason  sanctions,  although  as  a  timid  girl  I  must  blush  at  it." 

"  Lovely  stranger,"  said  Ali,  "  I  swear  to  you  by  Allah  that  I 
will  strive  to  ment  your  confidence,  and  never  to  make  myself  un- 
worthy of  it."  + 

"  All  depends  upon  our  devising  a  disguise  under  which  I  may 
see  you  daily.  Do  you  play  an  instrument?" 

"  I  play  the  guitar,"  replied  Ali. 

44  That  is  fortunate.  My  father  has  promised  that  I  shall  learn 
this  instrument,  and  has  given  me  permission  to  receive  daily  in- 
struction from  a  Frank  slave  in  the  presence  of  my  nurse.  You 
must  be  this  slave:  will  you  not?" 

"  Lovely  Gulhyndi,"  said  Ali,  "  I  am  your  slave  already." 

Gulhyndi  blushed. 

"  You  already  act  in  character,  you  say  sweet  things  to  me,  a 
fault  with  all  Franks ;  in  this  respect  we  Orientals  have  the  advantage 
over  them,  we  tell  the  true  feeling  of  our  hearts  plainly." 

"  So  do  I;  I  have  not  disguised  my  nature." 

"  This  is  a  repetition,"  cried  she,  laughing;  "  I  see  you  are  more 
cunning  than  I  thought ;  perhaps  I  have  done  wrong  in  reposing 
such  confidence  in  you." 

^  It  was  now  agreed  that  Ali  should  procure  a  Frank  dress,  such  as 
liberated  slaves  wore,  and  should  come  the  next  day  with  his  guitar. 


ALT  AND  GULHYNDI.  333 

Maria,  the  nurse,  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  entreating  him  to 
pardon  Lockman,  who,  from  zeal  for  his  master,  and  without  his 
orders,  had  that  morning  arranged  the  whole  plan.  The  enraptured 
Ali  promised  it,  and  inquired  of  her  who  her  mistress  was. 

"As  you  value  your  own  happiness  and  hers,"  answered  Maria,  "  ask 
me  no  questions.  Be  it  sufficient  for  you  to  know  that  her  name  is 
Gulhyndi.  She  knows  no  more  of  you  than  that  your  name  is  Ali. 
The  moment  you  know  more  than  this  of  each  other,  all  your  joy 
will  be  turned  to  sadness." 

Ali  was  forced  to  promise  that  he  would  not  inquire  further.  He 
hastened  to  buy  a  beautiful  guitar,  and  impatiently  awaited  the  hour 
which  should  again  reveal  to  him  his  earthly  Paradise.  It  arrived. 
He  entered  the  garden,  and  was  led  to  the  arbour  as  he  had  been  the 
day  before,  though  Maria  did  not  go  away,  but  remained  at  the  en- 
trance. Gulhyndi  met  him  much  more  splendidly  attired  than  on  the 
previous  day.  According  to  the  fashion  of  Persia,  she  appeared  in  a 
light  gay  velvet  garment,  which  hung  loosely  around  her  body,  and 
was  not  confined  by  a  bodice.  Her  beautiful  face  was  encircled  with 
strings  of  genuine  pearls  and  precious  stones;  on  her  fingers  she  wore 
diamonds  set  in  silver,  the  Orientals  not  being  permitted  to  wear  gold 
rings.  She  had  green  stockings,  which  showed  the  symmetry  of  her 
ancles,  and  on  her  small  feet  were  shoes  embroidered  with  gold. 
Smiling,  she  said:  "  Do  not  think,  dear  Ali,  that  I  have  chosen  this 
dress  from  vanity.  My  father,  who  loves  pomp,  has  been  with  me, 
and  I  have  not  had  time  to  change  it  as  I  expected.  I  will  leave  you 
for  a  moment,  and  will  be  with  you  immediately,  for  this  attire  is  not 
sociable.  I  can  scarcely  turn  my  head  with  the  weight  of  these  jewels, 
nor  move  my  fingers  with  these  rings." 

Having  said  these  words,  she  went  away,  attended  by  Maria.  Ali 
followed  her  with  his  eyes;  and  though  he  wished  he  might  see  her 
in  a  plain  attire,  which  would  rather  display  than  conceal  her  graceful 
form,  yet  he  could  not  refrain,  as  she  went  away,  from  exclaiming, 
with  the  poet;  "  How  lovely  is  thy  gait  in  shoes,  thou  daughter  of 
princes !  Thy  cheeks  are  lovely  with  gems,  and  thy  neck  with  chains. 
Thine  eyes  are  as  the  eyes  of  doves,  between  thy  tresses.  Thy  slender 
form  is  as  that  of  the  palm-tree,  and  thy  bosom  is  like  doves.  Oh !  my 
dove  in  the  rock,  show  thy  form  again,  and  let  me  hear  thy  voice,  for 
thy  voice  is  sweet,  and  thy  form  is  lovely !" 

It  was  not  long  before  she  returned  in  her  black  dress.  How 
much  more  beautiful  did  she  look !  On  her  partly  veiled,  swell- 
ing bosom,  which  dazzled  the  eyes  of  Ali  by  its  whiteness,  hung 
a  ruby,  which  was  blood-red  with  anger,  at  being  surpassed  by  the 
redness  of  her  lips.  A  lily  of  silver  was  entwined  in  her  hair.  She 
took  the  guitar,  saying:  "We  must  lose  no  time;  you  shall  not 
bring  it  in  vain;  therefore,  now  teach  me." 

Ali  obeyed,  and  taught  her  the  touch  of  the  strings.  How  did 
tie  tremble,  when  he  had  to  touch  her  white  hands  and  delicate 


334  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

finders !  She  was  as  delighted  as  a  child  when  she  could  play  the  first 
chord.  "  How  much  sometimes  there  is  in  the  combination  of  the 
elementary  sounds,"  she  cried.  ^ 

"  Lovely  Gulhyndi,"  said  Ali,  "  the  holy  seven  tones  have  the 
same  heavenly  relation,  by  nature,  as  the  holy  seven  colours  that 
beam  to  us  from  the  rainbow.  All  we  see  and  hear  is  nothing  but 
a  repetition,  and  the  variation  of  these." 

"  Why,  then,  has  the  prophet  forbidden  music  in  the  churches?' 
asked  Gulhyndi. 

"  The  human  voice,"  replied  he,  "  is  the  noblest  instrument,  and 
the  most  worthy  of  Omnipotence ;  the  prophet  considered  it  a  duty 
that  man  should  offer  the  best  to  God.  We,  fair  Gulhyndi,  will  not 
despise  the  music  of  these  chords  in  this  earthly  life,  since  it  sup- 
ports and  elevates  our  human  voice,  and  connects  man  with  nature." 

The  sun  was  now  setting,  and  cast  its  last  gleam  over  the  wall 
into  the  arbour.  "  Play  and  sing  another  song,  as  a  farewell,"  said 
she.  Ali  sang  as  follows : 

"  My  tuneful  strings  your  music  swell, 

And  sweetly  tell 

The  feelings  words  can  never  tell  aright. 
Kesound!    In  you  my  joys  should  be  expressed. 

Soften  that  breast, 
And  breathe  to  spring  my  transports  of  delight. 

"  Sing,  as  the  nightingale  from  some  dark  tree 

Pours  melody; 

And  bear  along  my  feelings  on  your  wings; 
And  let  my  thoughts  like  some  fair  streamlet  flow, 

In  evening's  glow, 
When  to  far  lands  its  gentle  sound  it  brings. 

"  The  thoughts  for  which  all  language  is  too  weak, 

The  lyre  can  speak; 

Although  love's  fetters  have  the  tongue  confined. 
When  love  has  come,  repose  gives  place  to  pain, 

And  words  are  vain. 
Notes  have  no  words — yet  is  their  sense  divined." 

After  this  Ali  had  frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  Gulhyndi. 
Once  finding  her  pale,  and  with  her  eyes  red  from  wreeping,  he 
asked  her  with  sympathy:  "  Lovely  Gulhyndi,  what  ails  you  ?" 

"  I  will  and  must  tell  you,  Ali,"  said  she  ;  "  when  you  have 
heard  me  you  will  be  convinced  of  the  necessity  I  felt  to  seek  your 
advice  and  confidence.  I  have  told  you  already  that  my  nurse  is  a 
Christian.  She  has  endeavoured  to  convert  me  to  the  Christian  faith  ; 
but  the  lessons  which  my  mother  gave  me  in  my  childhood  have 
always  closed  my  heart  against  her  persuasions  and  proofs.  Still 
she  has  often  rendered  me  most  uneasy ;  and  though  unsuccessful  in 
these  endeavours  to  convert  me  to  her  religion,  has  shaken  my 
faith  in  ours.  '  The  prophet,'  she  says,  '  excludes  the  female  half  of 
mankind  from  heaven ;  therefore,  what  are  you  striving  for?  In 
this  life  you  need  no  supernatural  assistance,  and  in  the  next  it  is  de- 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  335 

nied  you.  But  to  go  no  farther  than  this  life ;  what  have  you  be- 
come through  the  cruel  institution  of  Mahomet  ?  Before  your  mar- 
riage you  are  a  bird  shut  up  in  a  cage,  and  when  married,  an  un- 
happy wife,  who  shares  the  favours  of  a  tyrant  with  a  hundred 
others.  Follow  my  advice,  take  your  jewels  and  flee  to  Europe. 
My  family  is  large  and  happy,  my  native  country  is  extensive  and 
beautiful;  its  women  are  much  respected.  Many  youths  will  strive 
to  please  you ;  every  one  will  esteem  himself  happy  to  obtain  your 
hand.  The  Christian  church  will  receive  you  in  her  bosom,  and  in 
the  next  life  infinite  mercy  awaits  you.' " 

Gulhyndi  was  silent  for  a  moment,  to  hear  whether  Ali  would 
say  any  thing  in  reply.  As  he  continued  silent,  contemplating  her 
attentively  with  an  aifectionate  look,  she  continued : 

"  I  should  not  perhaps  have  been  strong  enough  to  withstand  her 
persuasions  had  not  a  singular  occurrence  taken  place  to  confirm  me. 
During  a  sleepless  night,  when  tormented  with  grief  and  anguish  of 
conscience,  I  lay  on  my  couch  with  my  hands  folded,  and  all  at 
once  fell  into  a  sweet  sleep,  during  which  I  dreamt  I  saw  the  ceiling 
of  the  room  opening,  and  a  charming:  fairy  coming  down  to  me  on 
a  rosy  cloud,  which  filled  the  room  with  perfume.  She  appeared  in 
an  azure  silk  garment,  over  which  hung  a  transparent  crape,  on  which 
were  wrought  silver  stars;  on  her  head  was  a  crown  of  diamonds, 
and  her  hands  held  a  sceptre  of  emerald.  She  bent  over  my  pillow, 
touched  my  temples  with  her  sceptre,  and  said,  *  Be  of  good  cheer 
daughter,  flee  not,  and  deny  not  your  faith.  Virtue  is  a  flower  that 
blooms  in  every  clime.  Be  firm  without  despairing.  I  promise  you 
a  youth  who  will  love  you  alone  and  be  faithful  to  you.  He  shall, 
like  yourself,  spring  from  the  tribe  of  Ishmael,  and  dwell  in  your 
tents.'  When  she  had  said  this  she  disappeared.  I  have  often  seen 
her  after  this,  when  I  have  been  in  trouble;  but  she  has  only  floated 
down  to  me  and  contemplated  me  smiling  for  a  moment,  which, 
however,  has  always  inspired  me  with  fortitude  for  many  days.  For 
two  months,  however,  I  have  not  seen  her,  and  Maria  urges  me 
daily.  Thus  I  met  you  in  this  state  of  excitement.  Oh,  Ali !  for- 
sake not  the  timid  roe  which  seeks  shelter  in  your  protection." 

How  was  it  possible  for  Ali  to  conceal  his  sentiments  any  longer  ? 

"  Gulhyndi,"  he  cried,  "  the  youth  which  the  good  fairy  promised 
you,  you  have  already  found,  if  you  will  be  satisfied  with  my  love 
and  fidelity.'1 

"  Ali,"  said  she,  trembling,  "  let  not  compassion  for  an  unhappy 
being  make  you  think  you  love  her." 

"  I  have  not  known  before  this  day  what  love  is,"  said  he;  "  but 
if  it  be  a  feeling  that  supplants  every  other,  and  makes  the  beloved 
object  its  sole  desire  on  earth,  then  I  love  you." 

She  could  find  no  words  in  answer;  her  arms  embraced  the 
happy  Ali,  and  in  the  first  kiss  he  enjoyed  the  highest  happiness. 

"  But,"  continued  she,  when  she  had  in  a  measure  recovered 
from  the  first  transport,  "  you  still  must  flee,  Ali,  you  must  leave  your 


336  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

country  if  you  love  ine.  Oh,  Allah,  how  could  I  expect  this  from 
thee,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh;  "  no,  no,  I  shall  act  against  the 
warning  of  my  good  fairy.  She  promised  me  a  lover  with  whom  I 
should  not  be  compelled  to  flee,  who  should  dwell  with  me  in  my 
tents.  Alas,  Ali,  this  is  impossible  with  you,  and  without  you  the 
world  has  no  joys  for  me." 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  beloved  Gulhyndi,  my  father  is  a  wealthy 
and  respected  man ;  I  do  not  know  yours,  but  he  cannot  have  any 
objection  to  our  union  if  the  wealthy  Ibrahim  solicits  you  for  his 
son,  and  grants  him  the  dowry." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  the  terrified  Maria  came 
running  to  them,  and  crying:  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  children,  com- 
pose yourselves  as  you  value  your  life.  Your  father  is  coming,"  she 
said  to  Gulhyndi;  "  play,  play,"  she  said,  to  Ali. 

He  took  the  guitar  and  had  scarcely  played  a  few  notes,  when  Hus- 
sain  Cadi  entered  the  arbour.  Alirs  terror  may  easily  be  conceived. 
His  hand  almost  dropped  the  guitar  so  greatly  was  he  embarrassed. 

Hussain  looked  at  him  attentively.  "  Is  this  the  Greek  slave, 
daughter,"  he  asked,  "  whom  your  nurse  procured  to  instruct  you  in 
music  ?" 

"Yes,  father,"  replied  Gulhyndi,  trembling. 

"  You  are  agitated,  you  have  been  weeping,  what  is  the  meaning 
of  all  this?" 

"  Father,  he  has  sung  to  me  an  air  which  has  affected  me  deeply." 

"  Ah !  does  he  so  well  understand  the  art  of  moving  your  feel- 
ings?" asked  Hussain.  "  Play,  you  Christian  dog,"  said  he,  turning 
to  Ali,  "  move  me,  also,  for  once." 

"  Pardon  your  slave,  sir,"  said  Ali,  "  feelings  cannot  be  forced;  if 
this  sweet  art  is  to  produce  its  effect,  the  mind  must  be  favourably 
attuned  before  hand." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  understand  how  to  effect  this?"  asked  Hus- 
sain, looking  at  Ali  with  a  searching  glance. 

Ali  was  silent. 

"  Are  you  a  freed  skve?  Who  was  your  master  in  Bagdad  be- 
fore?" 

In  answer  to  this  Ali  mentioned  a  name. 

"  You  seem  to  me  to  be  rather  an  Arab  than  a  Frank,"  said  Hus- 
sain, very  emphatically. 

As  Ali  was  going  to  reply,  Hussain  suddenly  exclaimed,  "Yes,  it 
is  he,  I  know  the  hateful  countenance,  I  know  the  detestable  fea- 
tures." Pale  with  fury  he  put  his  hands  to  his  side,  but  did  not  find 
his  sword.  "Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  with  affected  indiffer- 
ence, "  I  shall  be  here  again  instantly." 

Leaving  the  arbour  hastily,  he  clapped  his  hands  to  summon  a 
slave ;  but  none  appearing,  he  hurried  to  the  house.  Ali  and  Gul- 
hyndi were  now  in  the  utmost  despair. 

"  Come,  my  beloved,"  she  said,  as  she  embraced  Ali, "  only  through 
the  heart  of  his  daughter  shall  his  sword  find  its  way  to  yours." 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  337 

"  That  would  not  be  a  very  strong  shield,"  cried  a  hoarse  voice, 
from  the  wall ;  "come,  master,  save  your  life,  and  own  the  fidelity 
of  your  servant." 

Ali  cast  his  eyes  upwards  and  saw  Lockman  sitting  astride  on  the 
wall,  with  a  rope  ladder  which  he  quickly  lowered.  He  embraced 
his  beloved,  and  availed  himself  of  this  mode  of  rescue,  which  came 
as  if  sent  by  Heaven.  He  was  soon  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall 
with  Lockman,  who,  with  singular  speed,  took  him  round  the  corner 
and  concealed  him  in  a  thick  hedge.  As  soon  as  night  came  on  he 
hastened  home,  attended  by  Lockman,  and  thanked  him  for  his 
marked  fidelity  and  his  intrepid  courage. 

The  first  thing  he  now  did  was  to  speak  to  his  father  and  confide 
his  secret  to  him.  He  said,  at  length,  "  As  you  love  your  son,  con- 
quer your  hatred  against  Hussain.  go  with  me  to  him,  solicit  the 
hand  of  his  daughter  for  me,  and  offer  your  hand  to  him  in  recon- 
ciliation." 

"  Is  this  possible,  my  son?"  said  Ibrahim.  "  Can  love  so  far  carry 
you  away  that  it  makes  you  forget  what  you  owe  to  your  father? 
You  ask  of  me  to  degrade  myself  for  the  sake  of  your  passion  ?" 

"  Is  it  degrading  to  reconcile  oneself  with  one's  enemy?"  asked  Ali. 

"  I  did  once  make  a  step  towards  a  reconciliation,"  replied  Ibra- 
him, "  which  was  contemptuously  spurned,  and  I  have  sworn  by  the 
Omnipotent  Allah  that  as  sure  as  the  gold  cloth  was  torn,  so  surely 
shall  Hussain  be  for  ever  torn  from  my  heart.  Compose  yourself, 
my  son,  conquer  your  passion ;  there  are  pretty  girls  enough  in  Bag- 
dad besides  her.  I  am  rich  and  can  buy  the  most  beautiful  slaves 
for  you ;  but  never  think  of  an  alliance  with  the  blood  of  Hussain ; 
it  would  be  an  union  against  nature,  and  the  day  of  your  union  would 
be  the  day  of  your  father's  death." 

All  the  entreaties  and  persuasions  of  AH  were  of  no  avail  with  his 
father ;  the  otherwise  mild  Ibrahim  was  incensed  against  his  son  to  a 
degree  that  had  never  been  known  before,  and,  turning  his  back  upon 
him,  he  said,  "  Be  silent  and  forget  your  folly  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to  curse  the  moment  in  which  your  mother  brought  you  into  the 
world.  He  who  loves  Hussain's  daughter  cannot  love  me,  and  I 
must  look  upon  him  as  an  enemy  who  intends  evil  against  me." 

Ali  was  now  left  alone  in  despair.  Soon,  however,  Lockman 
made  his  appearance,  and  asked  him,  "  Why  are  you  so  dejected?" 

"  Fate  will  deprive  me  of  my  earthly  bliss,"  replied  Ali. 

"  When  did  fate  ever  do  so?"  rejoined  Lockman,  "  that  must  have 
happened  in  a  moment  when  I  was  not  present." 

"  Begone,"  cried  Ali,  "  am  I  not  unhappy  enough  without  your 
mockery  aggravating  my  grief?" 

"  I  come  not  only  with  mockery,"  said  Lockman,  "  but  sometimes 
with  rope  ladders." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Ali,  "  grief  made  me  forget  your  kindness." 

"  Well,"  replied  Lockman,  "  I  forgive  every  thing  but  awkward- 


338  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  And  what  remedy  is  there  for  me?" 

"  Nothing  easier  than  to  find  the  remedy  for  you,  provided  you 
will  make  use  of  it." 

AH  looked  at  him  amazed. 

"  Have  you  then  forgotten  the  caliph  entirely?  His  favour,  and 
what  he  told  you  at  the  time?"  asked  Lockman. 

A  ray  of  hope  now  darted  through  Ali's  desponding  mind. 

"  Go  to  the  caliph,"  continued  Lockman,  "  confess  all  to  him;  he 
will  be  amused,  nay,  rejoiced,  for  it  will  flatter  him  to  find  that  you 
have  been  at  last  caught  in  the  net  of  love.  You  have  before  now 
found  favour  in  his  sight;  he  will  laugh  at  your  love  intrigue  and 
give  his  orders ;  one  word  from  him  will  be  the  foundation  of  your 
happiness." 

Ali  was  delighted,  but  his  joy  shortly  left  him  after  a  closer  ex- 
amination of  Lockman's  advice.  He  thought  of  the  wrath  of  Hus- 
sain,  his  vindictive  disposition,  and  said  to  himself:  "  If  I  am  to  go 
I  must  go  at  once,  to-morrow  it  will  be  too  late ;  he  is  spiteful,  he  is 
cadi,  and  has  the  power  to  put  his  evil  designs  into  execution." 

"  Then  go  this  very  evening,"  said  Lockman. 

Ali  wrapt  himself  in  his  cloak  and  went.  The  evening  was  al- 
ready advanced,  but  the  weather  was  fine  and  the  moon  shone. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  palace  he  saw  that  it  was  splendidly  lighted 
up,  and  he  heard  music.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  with  anxious  heart,  "the 
caliph  is  celebrating  a  festival  to-night;  there  is  no  hope  of  my  being 
admitted,  and  to-morrow  it  will  be  too  late." 

His  fears  were  confirmed  by  the  words  of  the  porters,  who  told 
him  that  the  caliph  would  speak  to  no  one  so  late,  and  that  he  must 
return  the  next  day.  One  of  them,  however,  said:  "  What  can 
this  stranger  have  to  say  to  the  caliph?  Why  is  he  wrapt  up  in  a 
large  cloak,  and  why  does  he  come  at  this  hour  of  the  night?  Con- 
fusion is  in  his  face.  Might  he  not  be  a  traitor  who  intends  to  mur- 
der the  caliph  in  a  private  interview?  I  think  it  will  be  most  ad- 
visable to  bring  him  to  the  cadi  that  he  may  guard  him  for  the  night 
in  his  house.  To-morrow  he  can  be  released  again  if  found  innocent." 

Several  of  the  others  agreed  to  this  proposal,  saying:  "  It  is  not 
the  first  time  that  such  an  attempt  has  been  made  against  the  caliph's 
life.  The  caliph  is  too  noble-minded  to  have  any  suspicion;  but  it 
is  the  duty  of  his  servants  to  watch  over  his  safety." 

The  terror  of  Ali  may  easily  be  conceived  when  one  of  the  guard 
laid  hands  on  him  to  conduct  him  to  Hussain.  In  his  alarm  he 
threw  back  his  cloak,  and  cried:  "  I  am  Ali  the  son  of  Ibrahim! 
the  caliph  knows  me  and  has  shown  me  distinguished  favour.  I  have 
to  communicate  things  of  importance,  and  you  will  incur  his  highest 
displeasure  if  you  treat  a  peaceful  citizen  like  a  base  vagabond." 

Fortunately  for  Ali  one  of  the  guard  knew  him ;  and  persuaded 
the  others  to  release  him,  assuring  him  that  it  was  impossible  to 
speak  to  the  caliph  that  night,  and  that  he  must  return  the  following 
day. 


ALT  AND  GULHYNDI.  339 

All,  in  this  state  of  uncertainty,  walked  a  long  time  up  and  down 
the  street.  He  had  been  denied  an  appeal  to  his  only  deliverer ;  he  was 
unwilling  to  return  to  the  house  of  his  incensed  father  without  having 
effected  his  purpose  ;  and  from  the  enraged  cadi  he  had  to  fear  the 
worst.  Deeply  distressed,  he  sat  down  on  a  bench  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tigris. 

He  had  not  been  there  long  before  he  perceived  three  old  der- 
vishes coming  slowly  up  the  street.  They  saluted  him,  but  he 
scarcely  noticed  it.  One  of  them  came  up  to  him  and  sat  down  next 
to  him,  whilst  the  others  pursued  their  way. 

"  Let  it  not  displease  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that  I  address 
you  without  knowing  you, — but  if  one  has  no  acquaintance  one 
must  try  to  make  some.  We  are  dervishes,  and  are  coming  from 
Basra  in  order  to  speak  to  the  caliph  on  matters  of  consequence. 
Unfortunately  we  arrived  here  too  late.  He  celebrates  a  festival  for 
a  new  slave  whom  he  has  received  into  his  harem :  and  we  were 
obliged  to  quit  the  palace  without  succeeding  in  our  object.  We 
had  hoped  to  be  allowed  to  sleep  quietly  in  the  outer  court  of  the 
palace  until  to-morrow;  but  this  hospitality  is  no  longer  permitted, 
as  they  fear  the  safety  of  the  caliph  might  be  endangered.  We  have 
already  been  walking  about  for  more  than  an  hour  to  find  accommo- 
dation in  an  inn.  I  am  the  oldest,  and  am  most  weary, — permit  me, 
therefore,  to  rest  myself  at  your  side ;  my  companions  will  perhaps 
be  more  successful  in  their  search." 

"  I  regret,"  said  AH,  "that  this  evening  I  am  disposed  to  any 
thing  rather  than  to  entertaining  people  by  my  conversation.  But 
if  you  will  go  to  my  father's  house  (telling  him  at  the  same  time 
where  he  resided)  he  will  receive  you  hospitably,  and  will  feel  plea- 
sure in  entertaining  you  during  your  stay  in  Bagdad.  Come  with 
me  and  I  will  show  you  the  way.  It  is,  moreover,  not  safe  for  us  to 
loiter  any  longer  about  the  streets,  for  the  constables  of  the  cadi 
have  orders  to  arrest  every  one  whom  they  meet  after  a  certain 
hour." 

"  Why,  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  them  to  night,"  replied  the 
dervish,  "  as  they  are  making  merry  at  the  cadi's  expense,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  great  fortune  which  his  daughter  has  met." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Ali. 

"  Why,"  replied  he,  "  have  you  not  heard  that  she  has  been  given 
to  the  caliph,  and  that  the  festival  is  celebrated  on  her  account?  If 
the  love  she  lias  kindled  in  the  caliph,  when  he  saw  her  for  the  first 
time,  is  of  lasting  duration,  she  may  entertain  the  hope  of  becoming 
one  of  his  most  favourite  wives." 

"  Impossible !"  cried  Ali. 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  said  the  dervish. 

"  Then,"  exclaimed  Ali,  "  I  must  speak  to  the  caliph.  He  must 
restore  her  to  me !  I  will  strike  clown  the  guards  if  they  offer  to 
prevent  my  entrance.  I  will  murder  the  caliph,  and  then  her  and 
myself 1" 


340  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  Young  man,  you  are  mad !  Would  you  murder  the  Commander 
of  the  Faithful?  The  mere  utterance  of  such  a  design  is  high 
treason." 

"  I  go,"  cried  Ali,  half  frantic,  "  I  can  die  with  Gulhyndi,  but  not 
survive  her  dishonour  and  my  own." 

"  What  dishonour?"  asked  the  dervish.  u  Can  it  be  any  thing 
but  the  highest  honour  for  her  to  rest  in  the  arms  of  Haroun  al 
Easchid?" 

"  Heaven  and  earth !"  said  Ali,  as  he  attempted  to  go. 

"  Wait  an  instant,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  compose  yourself.  Is 
it  possible,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  same  city  can  contain  two 
men  of  such  opposite  temperaments?  Love  has  changed  you  to  a 
blood-thirsty  tiger,  and  a  youth  named  Ali  is  said  to  live  here  who 
is  a  pattern  of  such  a  cool  nature,  that  his  fame  has  reached  us  even 
at  Basra." 

"  I  am  this  very  Ali !"  cried  the  unfortunate  youth. 

"  You  Ali?   Impossible !  AH  is  wise." 

"  The  highest  wisdom  is  love,"  said  Ali;  "but  why  do  I  tarry 
here,  and  waste  my  time  upon  you,  while — ah? " 

He  was  going  to  tear  himself  away  from  the  old  man  and  hasten 
to  the  palace,  but  the  dervish  said,  "  As  you  are  in  such  great  haste, 
I  will  detain  you  only  long  enough  to  listen  to  one  word  of  reason, 
if  your  agitated  feelings  will  allow  you.  You  have  offered  us  a 
night's  lodging  without  knowing  us,  and  thereby  laid  us  under  some 
obligation,  and  as  it  is,  moreover,  the  duty  of  men  of  our  pious 
order  to  assist  believers  as  far  as  we  can,  follow  my  advice  and  come 
with  us,  and  we  will  bring  you  before  the  caliph.  My  companions 
are  approaching  and  will  go  with  us.  Your  purpose  of  striking  down 
the  guards  is  sheer  madness,  and  you  will  repent  it  if  you  reflect  a 
moment.  In  order  to  be  admitted,  we  must  say  we  come  on  im- 
portant business  from  the  governor  of  Basra.  Once  in  the  caliph's 
presence,  we  will,  as  ministers  of  religion  and  virtue,  throw  ourselves 
at  his  feet  and  solicit  your  betrothed  from  him.  Perhaps  we  may 
move  him, —  perhaps  he  will  be  touched  by  your  situation,  and  if  he 
is  not,  then  there  is  still  time  enough  for  you  to  act  as  despair 
prompts  you."  Ali  thanked  the  good  dervish  for  his  offer.  The 
other  two  were  soon  informed  of  the  plan,  and  immediately  as- 
sented to  it  as  the  best  arrangement,  though  they  had  some  difficulty 
in  persuading  Ali,  who,  notwithstanding  the  distracted  state  of  his 
mind,  perceived  to  what  danger  they  exposed  themselves  on  his 
account. 

Arrived  at  the  palace,  they  found  but  little  difficulty  in  obtaining 
admittance  ;  a  few  words  to  the  guards  procured  them  a  ready  en- 
trance, and  much  respect  was  shown  to  the  eldest.  They  were  led 
through  several  apartments  into  a  magnificent  saloon,  which  was 
lighted  with  innumerable  wax  tapers.  In  the  back  ground  stood 
the  caliph's  throne,  and  a  great  number  of  young  girls  afforded 
amusement  by  music  and  dancing.  Ali,  however,  could  discern 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  341 

neither  the  caliph  nor  Gulhyndi ;  and  turning  to  the  old  dervish, 
with  his  face  quite  pale,  he  asked,  "  Where  are  they?" 

"  The  caliph  has  probably  retired  to  his  own  apartment  with  his 
young  bride,"  replied  he.  "Alas!  poor  Ali,  we  have  come  too 
late." 

Ali  shuddered,  when  the  dervish  began  to  break  out  into  loud 
laughter,  and  throwing  off  his  cap  and  cloak,  stood  before  him 
in  princely  splendour  as  Haroun  al  Raschid.  "  Wise  Ali,"  he  cried, 
"  must  I  see  you  again  in  a  situation  where  you  are  not  a  hair's 
breadth  wiser  than  the  caliph?"  So  saying,  he  took  him  by  the 
hand  and  led  him  to  an  adjoining  apartment,  where  he  was  received 
by  Gulhyndi.  "  Accept  your  bride  from  my  hands,"  said  the 
caliph;  "  she  is  yours,  and  I  renounce  all  my  claims  to  her.  But  I 
will  not  proceed  in  an  arbitrary  manner  in  this  affair ;  I  have  sent 
for  your  parents,  and  trust  to  obtain  their  consent."  He  had  scarcely 
uttered  these  words,  when  Hussain  and  Ibrahim  were  brought  in. 
"  Hussain !"  said  the  caliph,  sternly,  "  I  have  reason  to  be  very  angry 
with  you.  You  have  not  offered  me  your  daughter  011  my  own  account, 
you  have  employed  me  as  an  instrument  to  wreak  your  revenge. 
You  have  sacrificed  this  poor  girl  to  prevent  Ali's  union  with  her  ; 
she  would  be  unhappy,  had  not  despair  inspired  her  with  courage  to 
disclose  all  to  me.  Give  your  consent,  as  that  is  the  only  way  by 
which  you  can  be  restored  to  my  favour." 

"Commander  of  the  Faithful !"  replied  Hussain,  "yours  is  the 
power,  but  you  are  good  and  just,  and  you  will  not  abuse  it.  From 
the  moment  when  I  discovered  that  my  daughter  would  be  beauti- 
ful, I  formed  the  resolution  that  she  should  belong  to  you  or  none. 
I  was  obliged  thus  suddenly  to  put  this  resolution  into  effect 
by  this  youth,  the  son  of  my  deadly  enemy,  who  has  not  so- 
licited my  daughter  from  me,  but  has  cunningly  crept  into  my 
house  in  order  to  seduce  her.  That  I  give  to  you  what  I  thought 
too  good  for  every  one  else  cannot  surely  displease  you.  You  arc  the 
father  of  your  people,  and  you  will  not  punish  with  your  displeasure 
your  slave,  who  in  his  trouble,  flies  to  you  for  refuge." 

"  I  know  all,"  said  the  caliph;  "  use  no  shifts.  You  and  Ibrahim 
shall  become  friends  ^again,  and  render  your  children  happy ; — such 
is  my  will."  / 

"This  alliance,"  replied  Hussain,  "would  be  my  greatest  mis- 
fortune, and  death  more  welcome.  I  entreat  you,  sire,  if  I  have 
shown  any  fidelity  and  zeal  towards  you  during  my  long  service ; 
reward  them  by  allowing  me  the  authority  of  a  father;  do  not  de- 
prive me  of  the  power  over  the  fate  of  my  child." 

"  She  cannot  be  mine,"  cried  Al  Raschid. 

"  Then,"  said  Hussain,  "  my  misfortune  is  great;  permit  me  and 
my  daughter  to  go  home,  and  mourn  the  loss  of  your  favour  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes." 

"  And  you,  Ibrahim,"  said  the  caliph,  turning  to  him,  "will  you 
not  advance  a  step  towards  the  happiness  of  your  child?" 


342  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  Commander  of  the  Faithful,"  said  Ibrahim,  "  I  do  not  think 
that  a  man  is  made  more  unhappy  by  not  obtaining  a  woman  upon 
whom  he  has  set  his  heart,  perhaps  only  for  a  moment.  If  it  were 
so,  I  ought  to  be  very  unhappy,  for  Hussain  is  the  very  man  who 
once  robbed  me  of  my  betrothed,  and  with  her  the  hope  of  my 
youth.  I  trust  my  son  will  be  contented  to  share  the  fate  of  his 
father,  and  to  suffer  what  I  have  suffered — a  grief  which  I  know, 
from  experience,  does  not  endure  long,  and  for  which  the  world 
affords  us  sufficient  compensation." 

The  blood  came  into  Al  Raschid's  face,  and  a  fire  flashed  from  his 
eyes,  which  usually  was  the  forerunner  of  sudden  wrath ;  still  he  re- 
strained himself.  "Is  it  your  unalterable  resolution,"  he  asked, 
"  to  conspire  against  the  happiness  of  this  young  man,  and  against 
my  will?" 

Both  parents  perceived  the  emotion  of  the  caliph's  mind.  Hus- 
sain continued  calm,  but  Ibrahim  turned  pale,  and  threw  himself  at 
the  caliph's  feet,  exclaiming:  "  I  am  your  slave,  your  pleasure  be 
done !  You  are  wise,  and  you  act  as  the  successor  of  the  Prophet, 
as  the  guardian  angel  of  religion  and  the  people.  I  give  my 
consent."  "  My  son,"  he  thought  within  himself,  "  may  take  several 
wives;  he  may  repudiate  her  whom  he  took  first;  I  shall  not  lose 
so  much  as  Hussain,  and  be  no  nearer  to  him  than  formerly." 

Hussain  contemplated  him,  smiling,  with  a  chilling  and  con- 
temptuous expression. 

"  And  what  do  you  say,  Hussain?"  asked  the  caliph. 

"  Commander  of  the  Faithful,  your  will  be  done.  To-morrow  I 
will  celebrate  the  nuptials  of  my  daughter;  but  you  will  permit  me 
to  take  her  home  with  me  to  night.  Ali's  betrothed  must  not  pass 
the  night  in  the  harem  of  the  caliph." 

"  Take  her;  but  your  life  shall  answer  for  her." 

"  I  answer  for  her  with  my  life,"  said  Hussain,  with  composure; 
and  taking  his  daughter  by  her  hand,  he  retired. 

"  Oh  !  let  him  not  go  hence !"  exclaimed  AH.  "  Gulhvndi,  my 
beloved!" 

She  turned  round,  and  looked  at  AH  with  a  sorrowful  smile,  and 
then  went  away  with  her  father.  The  caHph  consoled  AH,  who 
went  home  with  Ibrahim,  in  the  greatest  despair. 

When  Hussain  arrived  home,  he  ordered  his  daughter  to  go  to 
bed  immediately,  that  she  might  rise  with  the  early  dawn,  bathe, 
perform  her  devotions,  and  prepare  for  a  long  journey  which  they 
would  make  together.  Poor  Gulhyndi  passed  the  night  in  the 
greatest  affliction,  being  convinced  that  her  father  had  arranged 
every  thing  for  flight,  and  that  she  had  seen  AH  for  the  last  time. 

Early  the  next  morning  Hussain  entered  her  chamber,  and  seeing 
her  on  her  knees  in  fervent  prayer,  retired  until  she  had  finished  ; 
he  then  ordered  Maria  to  go  to  her  room.  He  now  said  to  his 
daughter:  "I  was  delighted  to  see  you  praying  so  fervently.  I 
doubt  not  but  that  Allah  will  forgive  the  sins  that  you  have  com- 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  343 

mitted  in  this  world  against  your  father  and  your  honour.  All  is 
now  over  in  this  world.  My  enemy  has  triumphed;  he  has  won  the 
heart  of  the  caliph,  and  Haroun  al  Raschid  will  use  his  power,  and 
have  me  executed  if  I  do  not  comply  with  his  wish.  As  ever  since 
I  commenced  life,  honour  always  had  a  higher  worth  than  life  itself, 
I  now  much  prefer  death  to  disgrace.  But  I  will  not  quit  this 
world  until  I  have  deprived  you  of  the  possibility  of  degrading  me 
after  my  death,  by  a  shameful  alliance  with  the  son  of  my  worst  enemy. 
The  prophet  has  given  every  Mussulman  the  right  of  chastising  his 
children,  and  has  made  him  the  master  of  their  lives.  As  a  wise 
guardian,  who  sees  that  the  flower  which  he  has  carefully  cultivated 
will,  in  time,  be  destroyed  by  worms,  so  do  I  pluck  y^ou,  fair  bud, 
that  you  may  not  wither  disgracefully.  I  take  you  with  me  to  the 
everlasting  habitations,  and  hope  to  answer  there  for  this  act  with  a 

food  conscience.     Praised  be  Allah,  the  Lord  of  the  creation,  the 
udge  of  the  last  day,  the  most  merciful  Being!" 

With  these  words  he  took  a  dagger  from  his  bosom,  and  plunged 
it  into  the  heart  of  the  beautiful  Gulhyndi.  For  an  instant  he  held 
his  daughter,  who  was  now  pale  in  his  arms,  looked  at  her,  and 
then  laid  her  gently  on  the  ground.  He  now  took  a  blue  silk  cord, 
put  it  round  his  neck,  drew  it  tight  without  trembling,  and  thus 
voluntarily  cut  short  his  days,  faithful  to  his  pride  and  implacability. 
The  following  morning  the  caliph  went  for  Hussain  and  Gul- 
hyndi ;  only  their  corpses  were  found.  Ali  shed  many  tears  on  the 
pale  face  of  his  Gulhyndi,  but  they  could  not  wake  her.  It  being 
a  custom  with  the  Mohammedans  to  bury  their  dead  three  hours 
after  their  decease,  Hussain  and  his  daughter  were  deposited  imme- 
diately in  a  burial  vault  outside  of  the  city,  whither  Ali  followed 
his  beloved.  When  all  had  retired,  he  alone  continued  sitting  in 
the  burying-ground,  on  her  tomb.  In  the  clear  night,  when  the 
moon  illumined  the  tomb,  he  said,  after  a  deep  silence:  "  I  must  see 
her  once  more;  the  sacred  moon  shall  once  more  shine  upon  her  in 
my  arms,  before  her  beautiful  body  is  reduced  to  dust."  As  he 
said  these  words,  he  saw  something  moving  in  the  high  grass 
between  the  graves.  In  hopes  that  it  was  the  grave-digger,  he  went 
near,  to  ask  him  to  lift  the  stone  from  the  tomb.  On  approaching 
quite  close,  he  discovered  that  it  was  Lockman,  and  shuddered  at 
meeting  this  little  monster  on  so  sacred  a  spot.  By  the  pale 
moonlight  he  appeared  to  him  more  hideous  and  fiend-like  than 
formerly.  "  What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked  him. 

"  I  assist  my  master,  as  I  am  ever  wont  to  do." 

"  I  no  longer  want  your  assistance;  you  are  the  cause  of  her 
misfortune  and  her  death;  you  seduced  me  to  see  her;  without 
me  she  would  still  live  and  be  happy." 

"  Would  you  rather  wish  never  to  have  seen  her?" 

"  Go  call  the  grave-digger,  and  then  go  home." 

"The  grave-digger  is  from  home;  I  know  what  you  want,  and 
can  afford  you  better  assistance  than  he." 

2  A 


344  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"  You  shall  not  move  the  stone  from  the  grave." 

"  That  would  be  of  little  use,  for  she  is  not  in  it." 

"  She  is  with  Allah,  but  her  body  is  there.  I  have  myself  lowered 
the  coffin  into  the  vault,  and  have  never  since  left  the  spot." 

"  Where  her  body  is,  there  she  also  is,"  said  Lockman;  "  but 
neither  of  them  is  in  the  vault." 

Having  said  these  words,  he  picked  up  a  human  bone  from  the 
ground,  and  knocked  with  it  gently  three  times  on  the  stone,  which 
moved  of  its  own  accord.  "  Now  look  in,"  said  he. 

Ali  looked,  and  saw  Gulhyndi's  and  Hussain's  coffins  standing 
open  and  empty.  "  Heaven!  what  is  this?"  cried  Ali,  rending  his 
clothes  in  despair. 

"  Gulhyndi  is  not  dead,"  said  Lockman;  "she  lives,  and  still 
lives  for  you;  if  you  wish  to  see  her,  go  some  night  across  the 
desert.  Rest  yourself  near  the  spring  of  Ali  Haymmamy,  and 
then  go  towards  the  ruins  of  Babylon ;  towards  the  west  there  is  a 
large  grotto  of  marble;  at  its  entrance  you  will  find  me  ready  to 
conduct  you  to  your  beloved.  Banish  fear  from  your  heart,  and 
harbour  no  unworthy  suspicion  towards  your  friend  and  protector." 

When  Lockman  had  thus  spoken,  he  went  away  and  disap- 
peared among  the  graves,  a  few  pale  blue  ignes  fatui  alone 
marking  the  way  which  he  went.  Ali,  who  followed  him  with 
his  eye,  started  up  as  from  a  frightful  dream,  scarcely  knowing 
what  to  think  of  all  that  had  happened.  The  moon  cast  her 
pale  light  on  the  tomb  enclosing  the  coffins ;  a  heavy  dew  had 
fallen  on  the  grass,  and  grasshoppers  were  chirping  on  its  moist 
blades. 

SECOND  PART. 

In  the  centre  of  Upper  Asia,  the  most  ancient,  and,  at  the  same 
time  the  least  known  country  in  the  world,  is  a  high  table-land, 
across  which  runs  a  chain  of  lofty  rocky  mountains.  Its  soil  con- 
sists of  coarse  sand  and  gravel,  in  which,  however,  are  often  found 
the  most  beautiful  precious  stones.  Here  and  there  is  found, 
during  the  summer-season,  patches  of  rich  pasture  to  which  the 
Mongols  bring  their  cattle.  Over  its  greatest  extent  it  is  quite 
barren,  without  either  tree  or  shrub,  although  in  some  places 
springs  are  gushing  forth  which  soon  run  off  in  the  stony  ground. 
The  elevated  basins  in  the  snow-capped  mountains  are  reservoirs  from 
which  innumerable  small  rivulets  flow  down  in  every  direction 
through  the  crevices,  and  form  the  mighty  rivers  of  Asia. 

Large  heaps  of  stones  are  piled  up  at  short  distances,  pointing 
out  the  way  to  the  caravans,  and  near  them  wells  are  dug  out  for 
their  refreshment  in  the  burning  heat.  Besides  these  are  found  many 
salt  lakes  among  these  mountains,  which,  viewed  from  a  distance, 
have  a  reddish  appearance.  The  wild  horse  Dscheggetai  is  seen 
running  about  in  herds.  In  its  slight  make  it  resembles  the  mule ; 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  345 

and  with  its  slim  stag -like  neck,  and  its  beautiful  cream  colour,  it 
rushes  across  the  desert  like  clouds  of  drifted  sand.  All  the  do- 
mestic animals  of  Europe,  the  dog,  cat,  ox,  rein-deer,  and  horse,  here 
rove  in  their  primitive  wildness,  at  war  with  the  still  wilder  and 
untamed  lions,  tigers,  panthers,  and  the  horrible  serpents  who 
dwell  in  the  clefts  and  creep  forth  in  the  darkness  of  night.  Here 
and  there  the  diggers  of  rhubarb  have  built  their  huts  on  some 
rocky  fastness  under  the  green  cedars,  and  are  the  only  human 
beings  who  are  met  in  this  wild  scene. 

In  these  immense  unknown  regions  there  are  parts  surrounded 
by  chains  of  lofty  mountains,  where  beautiful  nature  still  blooms 
in  a  paradisaical  youthfulness,  which  no  mortal  eye  ever  yet  has 
seen. 

Here  the  spirits  live  in  all  their  natural  grandeur,  as  in  the  first 
days  of  creation  before  Allah  had  formed  man.  They  choose  their 
abode  according  to  their  several  dispositions;  the  evil  spirits,  whose 
nature  is  malicious,  and  whose  deeds  are  destructive,  haunt,  for 
the  most  part,  the  wildest  and  most  barren  spots,  living  in  dark 
damp  caverns  deep  below  the  earth,  and  bestride  at  night  the  pesti- 
lential winds  to  visit  the  men  on  the  fertile  southern  coasts  of  Asia. 
The  good  spirits  live  in  cool  grottoes  in  the  beautiful  and  fertile 
parts  near  springs,  and  often  with  the  morning  dawn  soar  through 
the  air  to  Arabia,  Persia,  and  India,  to  refresh  and  accompany 
those  men  who  render  themselves  worthy  of  their  assistance.  The 
Eastern  nations  call  this  unknown  wonderful  land  Ginistan ;  and 
though  knowing  it  to  be  on  the  earth,  they  yet  think  it  inac- 
cessible, and  separate  it  from  all  the  inhabited  countries  of  the 
globe. 

In  one  of  these  beautiful  grottoes,  where  clear  crystals  forced 
themselves  like  icicles  through  stones  glittering  with  ore,  the 
lovely  Gulhyndi  for  the  first  time  reopened  her  eyes,  being  roused 
by  a  rippling  spring  in  the  back  ground,  which  gushed  down  into  a 
basin  of  polished  jasper.  The  limpid  stream  served  her  as  a  mirror 
when  she  awoke,  and  there  she  saw  herself  reflected  in  the  most 
charming  morning-dress.  After  having  contemplated  herself  for 
a  moment,  she  uttered  a  sigh  of  wonder :  all  around  her  became 
animated.  From  the  streamlet  rose  nymphs  with  rushes  in  their 
hair,  the  water  still  flowing  from  their  snowy  bosoms ;  in  their 
hands  they  had  instruments  which  they  held  against  the  rippling 
of  the  stream,  and  these  struck  the  cords  and  produced  wonderful 
sounds.  In  the  trees  hung  beautiful  boys  with  wings  of  splendid 
colours ;  their  golden  locks  flowed  from  their  heads  like  foliage,  and 
a  glow  like  that  of  the  rising  sun  beamed  from  their  rosy  cheeks. 
From  the  clefts  in  the  rocks  fantastic  figures  stretched  forth  their 
faces,  pale,  mournful  faces,  with  crowns  of  gold  and  precious  stones 
on  their  heads,  holding  silver  gongs  in  their  hands,  on  which  were 
suspended  silver  bells,  which  they  struck.  Gulhyndi's  astonishment 

2  A2 


346  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

was  at  its  height,  when  she  heard  these  singular  creatures  sing  the 
following  words : 

"  Mountains,  rivers,  breezes  fleet, 
Greet  thee,  sweet. 

Greet  thee  in  the  dew  drop's  bright, 
Queen  of  light. 

The  night  has  lull'd  the  rose's  child, 
Soft  and  mild, 
Has  she  wrapp'd  it  in  her  veil, 

But  its  leaves  are  opened  all 

When  sunbeams  fall 
"Warmly  at  morn  into  the  vale. 
And  thy  fate  has  been  the  same. 
Thy  soft  frame 
Died  away  in  slumber  deep. 
Soon  has  sleep 

Colour'd  thy  fair  cheeks  again. 
The  wild  bird's  strain 
Wakes  thee  from  thy  sweet  repose. 

In  the  fresh-blooming  lap  of  nature 

Thou  hast  gained  new  charms,  fair  creature, 
Like  the  rose." 

Then  these  fantastic  forms  vanished  again,  and  she  heard  the 
spring  ripple,  as  before  the  rustling  of  the  trees,  and  the  echoes 
through  the  vaults  of  the  cavern.  Soon  a  troop  of  girls  dressed  in 
white  came  into  the  grotto,  spread  a  carpet,  and  put  upon  it  the 
most  exquisite  viands,  placed  two  cushions,  one  for  her,  and  an- 
other for  a  second  person,  and  then  bowed  and  said,  "  Your  guar- 
dian angel  is  coming." 

Gulhyndi  had  scarcely  recovered  from  her  astonishment,  than, 
amidst  a  train  of  singing  and  dancing  creatures,  a  handsome  youth 
entered,  dressed  far  more  splendidly  than  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad  him- 
self. A  mantle  of  the  finest  purple  hung  down  from  his  shoul- 
ders, the  rest  of  his  attire  was  of  snow-white  silk,  and  he  had 
a  crown  of  glittering  rubies  on  his  head.  He  sat  down,  and 
asked  Gulhyndi  to  do  the  same.  When  the  dancers  and  singers 
had  retired,  he  said,  "  Gulhyndi  is  now  in  the  bliss  of  Paradise." 

She  was  silent  and  trembled.  The  splendid  king  began  to  take 
some  of  the  meats  that  were  served  up,  and  said,  after  a  short 
silence,  "  Gulhyndi  is  in  the  abode  of  enjoyment,  let  her  enjoy 
without  fear." 

Upon  this  she  rose  and  fell  down  at  his  feet,  saying,  "  Pow- 
erful being,  I  cannot  enjoy  any  thing;  my  enjoyments  were  few 
when  I  was  living,  they  are  still  less  now  that  a  superior  power 
has  placed  me  in  your  Eden.  Give  me  back  my  Ali  when  he 
has  ended  his  days  ;  until  then  my  dreams  within  these  sacred 
shades  shall  recall  to  me  the  past  and  prepare  me  for  a  blissful 
eternity." 

"  Am  I  less  ethereal  than  you?"  said  the  young  king,  "  and  do  I 
not  participate  in  these  things?  Take  one  of  these  fruits,  its  juice 
is  heavenly,  its  enjoyment  spiritual." 


ALT  AND  GULHYNDI.  347 

Gulhyndi  bowed  low,  but  found  it  impossible  to  accept  tlie  fruit 
he  offered  her;  for,  notwithstanding  his  beauty,  there  was  something 
in  his  features  that  inspired  her  with  terror  and  warned  her  not  to 
accept  it. 

At  this  he  smiled  and  rose,  saying,  as  he  retired:  "  This  earthly 
nature  must  be  purified." 

Gulhyndi  was  alone  all  day.  She  went  out  of  the  grotto  to  walk 
about  in  the  beautiful  country  around.  Towards  sunset  she  was  tor- 
mented with  hunger  and  said  to  herself:  "  Can  one  really  feel  such 
an  earthly  appetite  in  a  state  of  bliss?  But,  alas!  I  am  not  in  a 
state  of  bliss ;  I  feel  as  earthly  as  I  did  before ;  deep  melancholy  and 
yearning  are  gnawing  my  heart."  As  she  said  these  words  her  eyes 
glanced  at  a  bread  tree  which  overhung  a  fountain.  It  looked  so 
innoxious  that  she  plucked  some  fruit,  ate  it,  took  some  water  in  the 
hollow  of  her  hands  and  drank.  She  felt  herself  refreshed  and  in- 
vigorated by  her  scanty  repast,  and  her  heart  felt  lighter.  The  set- 
ting sun  shone  kindly  on  her  through  the  deep  clefts  of  the  snow- 
capped mountains  that  bounded  the  horizon,  as  he  cast  his  beams  on 
the  gold  leaved  shrub,  called  Dsaac,  which  bloomed  on  the  brink. 
Flying  fish  moved  their  silver  fins  in  his  last  rays.  Gulhyndi  walked 
peacefully  back  to  her  grotto  amid  the  evening  song  of  the  twitter- 
ing birds.  A  sweet  slumber  soon  came  over  her  as  she  reclined  011 
her  couch,  during  which  a  pleasant  dream  showed  her  her  beloved 
AH. 

For  some  "days  she  repeated  her  walk,  and  at  evening  returned  to 
her  grotto.  The  young  king  came  daily  with  increased  pomp ;  he 
spoke  kindly  to  Gulhyndi,  had  dances  and  music  performed,  and  sang 
himself,  whilst  his  eyes  tenderly  contemplated  her  charms.  She  con- 
tinued taciturn  and  reserved;  she  touched  none  of  the  dainties  that 
were  placed  before  her,  and  opened  neither  her  ear  nor  her  heart  to 
his  singing.  He  always  smiled  when  he  departed  and  said:  "  The 
<3arthly  nature  must  be  purified." 

Gulhyndi  was  delighted  when  he  was  gone,  for  she  could  then 
wander  about  in  the  delightful  and  verdant  region.  Oh,  how  much 
did  she  wish  that  her  Ali  was  with  her !  The  beauties  of  nature 
were  here  greater  than  imagination  could  conceive.  Among  the 
many  variegated  birds  she  was  particularly  pleased  with  a  pheasant 
of  the  Argus  species ;  she  tamed  him  in  the  few  first  days ;  he  walked 
by  her  side,  stood  before  her  in  the  sun,  with  his  yellow  body  and 
black  spots  on  his  wings ;  his  head  and  neck  were  red,  and  the  former 
was  adorned  by  a  blue  crest.  When  she  stroked  him  he  spread  out 
his  long  wings  with  orange  feathers  like  a  fan,  which  glittered  with 
large  oval  eyes.  In  the  fresh  green  meadows  she  found  a  quantity 
of  the  fine  plant  called  ginseng,  which  the  eastern  nations  so  highly 
esteem,  because  it  cures  all  diseases.  She  had  no  doubt  that  she  was 
in  Paradise ;  but  for  the  angel,  as  he  was  called,  she  could  feel  no 
affection,  having,  on  the  contrary,  a  dislike  to  him.  He  seemed  to 
be  a  sensual  spirit,  and  though  so  handsome  she  thought  she  dis- 


348  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

covered  features  which  reminded  her  of  a  man  of  hideous  appear- 
ance whom  she  had  seen  once  or  twice  in  her  life,  namely,  Lockman, 
Ali's  slave.  Once  while  she  was  walking  across  a  field  leading  to  a 
forest,  a  dreadful  tiger  came  running  towards  her  with  open  jaws;  he 
stopped  on  coming  quite  close,  couched  down  and  stared  at  her,  as 
if  he  were  going  to  pounce  on  her  and  tear  her  to  pieces.  At  first 
Gulhyndi  was  terrified,  but  soon  recovered  herself.  At  this  moment 
the  young  king,  returning  from  hunting  amid  the  sounds  of  bugles, 
approached,  and  seeing  the  tiger  in  this  menacing  attitude  before  her, 
hastened  to  kill  him  with  his  spear.  "  I  have  saved  your  life,  fair 
maiden,"  said  he. 

"  Impossible,  sir,"  she  replied;  "  my  earthly  life,  as  you  have  be- 
fore told  me,  I  have  lost  already,  and  my  eternal  life  I  can  obtain 
only  by  a  good  conscience,  and  lose  only  by  sinful  thoughts,  from 
which  may  Allah  preserve  me !" 

"  I  appreciate  your  courage  and  sagacity,"  said  the  young  king, 
vexed,  and  he  left  her  in  anger. 

After  several  days  had  passed,  and  Gulhyndi  still  continued  the 
same,  the  young  king  said,  "It  is  my  duty,  fair  Gulhyndi,  to  show 
you  what  you  do  not  desire  to  see.  You  are  lavishing  your  affec- 
tions on  an  unworthy  mortal,  and  thereby  render  yourself  unfit  for 
joys  of  a  higher  order.  Are  you  desirous  of  seeing  your  Ali  once 
more?" 

"  Oh !"  cried  she,  "  favour  me  with  this  blessed  sight,  and  you  shall 
reap  my  eternal  gratitude." 

"  You  shall  see  him  this  very  night  in  your  grotto,"  replied  he. 

In  the  evening,  shortly  after  sunset,  while  the  moon  shed  her 
beams  on  the  grotto,  he  came  again,  dressed  as  when  she  first  saw 
him,  in  his  purple  mantle,  and  with  a  crown  of  rubies  on  his  head, 
which  sparkled  brightly  in  the  moon's  rays.  "  Look  into  the  depth 
of  the  cavern  while  all  is  dark,"  he  said,  "  but  take  care  not  to  look 
at  me  during  the  appearance  of  the  apparition,  otherwise  all  will 
suddenly  vanish." 

He  now  waved  his  wand,  and  Gulhyndi  saw  through  a  bright 
opening,  her  Ali  in  the  deep  recess,  in  the  arms  of  a  beautiful  young 
girl,  and  she  heard  him  say,  "Fair  Zulima !  can  you  love  me: 
Gulhyndi  is  dead,  and  my  love  has  expired  with  her."  On  hearing 
these  words  Gulhyndi  grew  pale,  but  recovering  herself  suddenly, 
and  remembering  the  warning  of  the  young  king,  she  turned  her 
head  quickly,  without  being  observed,  and  now  beheld  by  her  side, 
instead  of  the  beautiful  youth,  Lockman,  with  his  hideous  humps, 
squinting  eyes,  and  cock's  feathers,  on  his  pointed  'hat.  He  no 
sooner  perceived  that  she  was  looking  at  him,  than  the  apparition 
disappeared,  and  he  again  stood  before  her  in  his  former  beauty. 

"  Holy  Allah !  Mighty  prophet !"  exclaimed  she,  falling  on  her 
knees  and  extending  her  white  arms  towards  the  moon,  "  save  me 
from  this  fiend !  Remove  this  seducer  who  harasses  me  !"  As  she 
uttered  these  words  the  young  king  vanished,  and  her  faithful 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  349 

Argus  came  in  and  sat  down  at  her  side.  The  birds  were  singing  in 
the  bushes;  the  fountain,  which  had  ceased  flowing^,  again  mur- 
mured, and  Gulhyndi  fell  into  a  sweet  slumber,  during  which  a 
dream  showed  her  Ali,  with  his  hand  on  his  heart,  saying,  "  I  am 
faithful."  From  this  time  she  saw  the  young  king  no  more.  She 
lived  on  the  roots  of  the  earth,  the  fruit  of  the  trees,  and  drank  from 
the  fountain.  No  nymph  or  other  creature  appeared  again.  Her 
heart  being  tranquilised,  hope  revived  again  in  her  soul,  and  she 
bloomed  like  the  rose  in  the  valley.  She  tamed  many  pretty  ani- 
mals, and  lived  among  them  like  a  shepherdess,  praying  night  and 
morning  to  Allah,  that  he  might  show  her  Ali,  who  appeared 
nightly,  in  her  most  pleasing  dreams. 

While  the  fair  Gulhyndi  thus  lived  happily,  her  father,  on 
awaking,  found  himself  in  a  condition  quite  the  reverse  of  hers. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  was  stretched  on  a  barren  rock, 
under  a  burning  sun,  and  with  the  cord  still  round  his  neck.  Stung 
by  an  innumerable  quantity  of  gnats  and  flies,  that  were  buzzing 
round  him,  he  sprung  up,  and  with  all  the  torments  of  a  parching 
thirst,  which  allowed  him  no  time  for  reflection,  he  ran  about 
seeking  a  spring  to  refresh  himself,  but  found  none — not  even  a 
tree  was  nigh  to  cast  a  shade  in  which  he  might  repose.  Just  as  he 
was  falling  senseless  to  the  ground,  he  discovered  a  cavern,  which, 
by  the  rays  of  the  sun  shining  into  it,  he  found  was  spacious. 

Further  in  the  back  ground  some  rays  of  light  fell  in  through  an 
aperture.  Hussain  entered,  and  found  a  table  cut  out  in  the  rock. 
A  stone  near  it  served  as  a  chair,  a  wooden  goblet  stood  on  it,  and 
close  by  a  fountain  was  bubbling.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to 
take  the  goblet  and  run  to  the  fountain  in  order  to  fill  it  and  drink. 
He  filled  it  a  second  time,  but  finding  it  too  cool  in  the  shady 
cavern,  and  apprehensive  of  producing  a  fever,  he  took  the  goblet, 
sat  down  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  in  the  sun,  and  slowly  emptied 
its  contents.  While  doing  this,  it  seemed  as  if  something  was 
moving  at  the  bottom  of  the  goblet,  and  on  looking  in  he  discovered 
a  black  leech  writhing.  Disgusted,  he  threw  from  him  the  goblet, 
the  contents  of  which  caused  vomiting,  and  he  fell  fainting  on  the 
ground. 

He  was  roused  by  a  violent  shaking.  Opening  his  eyes,  he  saw 
a  little  deformed  figure  standing  before  him  with  a  hump  on  his 
chest  and  back,  with  squinting  eyes,  and  with  a  nose  that  hung 
over  his  mouth  like  a  bunch  of  purple  grapes.  His  clothes  were 
black,  and  he  wore  a  miner's  apron,  having  on  his  head  a  black  cap, 
upon  which  appeared  a  death's  head  and  cross  bones.  In  his  hand  he 
held  a  miner's  hammer.  "  What  are  you  doing  here?"  asked  the 
monster,  "  Who  gave  you  permission  to  enter  my  cavern,  to  cast  my 
goblet  in  the  sand,  and  to  sleep  on  my  ground?" 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  Hussain;  "I  am  a  poor  unhappy 
wretch,  and  know  not  how  I  am  come  hither.  I  was  once  Cadi  of 
Bagdad,  thus  much  I  recollect;  I  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  who  was 


350  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

to  be  married  to  the  son  of  my  enemy,  but  I  would  not  give  my 
consent.  What  took  place  further  is  concealed  from  my  memory  as 
if  by  a  mist." 

"  You  have  come  here  without  my  permission,"  said  the  little 
miner;  "you  have  cast  my  goblet  into  the  dust;  you  would  not 
allow  your  daughter  to  marry  ;  all  this  deserves  punishment." 

He  now  took  poor  Hussain  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  into  a  cavern, 
where  the  icy  cold  water  incessantly  poured  into  the  abyss  below, 
like  a  shower  bath,  through  innumerable  holes.  Hussain  was  obliged 
to  stand  on  a  narrow  piece  of  rock,  where,  in  spite  of  a  shivering  fit 
of  ague,  he  dared  not  move  lest  he  should  fall  into  the  well  beneath. 
"When  he  had  thus  stood  for  a  long  time,  the  miner  led  him  out  and 
threw  him  on  the  sand,  under  the  burning  sun,  where  he  could  not 
move.  "  This  will  teach  you  not  to  throw  my  cup  on  the  ground 
again,  not  to  sleep  again  in  my  cavern  without  my  permission,  and 
not  to  forbid  again  the  marriage  of  your  daughter,"  said  the  dwarf. 
He  then  filled  the  goblet  with  water,  took  a  piece  of  black  bread 
from  a  recess  in  the  rock,  and  put  both  before  Hussain,  saying, 
"  Eat,  drink,  and  be  my  slave,  but  do  not  venture  twenty  paces 
from  the  cavern ;  rest  yourself  that  you  may  be  strong  for  work  on 
my  return." 

When  he  was  gone,  Hussain  took  the  bread  which  hunger  made 
him  relish,  notwithstanding  it  was  very  bad.  As  he  took  the 
goblet  and  again  saw  the  leech  in  it,  he  was  near  despair,  put 
it  down  again,  but  unable  to  resist  any  longer,  he  seized  it  and 
drank,  as  tormenting  thirst  at  last  overcame  his  loathing.  He  had 
no  sooner  drank  than  the  leech  fastened  on  his  lip  and  bit  him  so 
sharply  that  he  fell  on  the  ground  senseless.  Being  aroused  again 
by  shaking,  the  little  miner  stood  before  him,  crying,  "  Have  you 
thrown  my  goblet  to  the  ground  a  second  time?" 
Hussain  trembled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  For  this  time  it  may  pass.  Follow  me,'1  said  the  monster. 
Hussain  was  obliged  to  follow  him  further  into  the  desert,  when 
the  little  man  said,  "  I  want  to  find  gold  and  precious  stones  for  my 
crowns;  but  you  are  as  yet  too  weak  and  ignorant  to  work  in  my 
mines:  I  have,  therefore,  for  the  present,  destined  you  for  some 
light  work.  You  shall  seek  gold  and  precious  stones  on  the  desert. 
Every  evening  you  must  bring  me  at  least  three  good  stones,  and 
one  ounce  and  a  half  of  gold ;  if  you  fail  to  do  so,  you  may  reckon 
upon  punishment  for  your  idleness." 

What  a  task  for  the  unfortunate  Hussain !  He  was  obliged  to 
walk  the  whole  day  on  the  dry  sand,  and  search  under  a  scorching 
sun.  He  could  but  rarely  satisfy  his  cruel  master,  who  generally 
punished  him  by  hunger  and  thirst,  and  the  terrible  icy  cold  bath. 
His  food  consisted  of  mouldy  bread,  some  fruits,  and  water  out  of 
the  loathsome  goblet ;  but  he  was  already  so  accustomed  to  the  leech, 
that  he  was  no  longer  disgusted  with  it,  making  it  rather  his  sole 
friend  and  companion.  When  his  hands  were  swollen  from  his  long 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  351 

search  between  sharp  stones,  and  his  feet  with  walking  on  them,  he 
applied  the  leech  to  the  blisters,  which  mitigated  his  pains  by  suck- 
ing the  inflamed  blood.  Thus  he  lived  for  a  long  time.  His  pride 
and  haughtiness,  which  in  former  days  had  caused  his  daughter  and 
himself  so  much  sorrow,  were  gradually  forgotten ;  only  his  hatred 
and  abhorrence  for  Ibrahim  was  still  felt,  as  though  he  were  the 
cause  of  his  misery. 

But  it  is  now  time  to  return  to  Ali  and  see  what  in  the  mean- 
while has  happened  to  him.  The  first  weeks  of  his  disconsolate  state 
had  passed;  despair  had  exhausted  itself;  and  hope  began  to  re- 
vive him  by  pleasing  anticipations,  reminding  him  daily  of  Lock- 
man  as  the  sole  sheet-anchor  of  his  happiness.  He  indeed  at  first 
shuddered  at  the  idea  of  resorting  to  an  evil  spirit,  but  afterwards 
said  within  himself,  "Is  it  then  really  certain  that  he  is  evil? 
What  has  he  done  to  prove  him  malignant?  Near  Ali  Haymmamy's 
fountain  in  the  desert  I  have  seen  nothing  but  what  is  in  the  natural 
order  of  things.  Lockman  has  served  me  with  his  knowledge ;  he 
has  endeavoured  to  withdraw  me  from  solitude;  has  procured  me 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  beloved ;  has  saved  my  life  from  the  wrath 
of  her  father,  and  inspired  me  with  hope  when  all  hope  had  fled. 
That  he  is  hideous,  that  there  is  something  repulsive  in  his  features ; 
that  blue  flames  flash  from  the  earth  where  he  treads — what  does  all 
this  signify?  If  he  is  a  spirit,  it  must  be  easy  for  him  to  assume 
what  appearance  he  likes  on  earth.  If  he  were  a  subtle  spirit  he 
would  show  himself  in  the  most  captivating  form  of  temptation.  But 
he  despises  this.  Certainly  he  is  one  of  those  capricious  beings, 
who  exert  their  influence  on  human  life,  and  make  men  happy  or 
miserable  as  they  please.  He  has  favoured  me,  and  it  would  be 
folly  without  parallel  not  to  avail  myself  of  his  kindness.  What  do 
I  risk,  now  that  I  have  lost  all  on  earth?" 

Ali  found  it  an  easy  matter  to  obtain  his  father's  permission  to 
wander  again  to  Babylon.  The  old  man  rejoiced  that  his  son  could 
still  take  pleasure  in  something,  and  hoped  he  would  soon  console 
himself  for  his  loss.  Ali  therefore  took  his  knapsack  on  his  back, 
and  set  out  on  his  way  as  he  had  formerly  done,  being  careful  to  ob- 
serve the  right  time.  He  crossed  the  desert  in  the  delightful  cool 
of  morning,  and  met  nothing  remarkable  on  his  way.  First,  when 
he  reached  Ali  Haymmamy's  fountain,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the 
spot  totally  changed.  The  palm  trees  were  fresh  and  verdant,  flowers 
grew  round  the  brink  of  the  fountain,  and  he  perceived  no  sulphur- 
ous exhalation ;  but  saw,  on  drawing  near,  a  delightful  brook  of  clear 
water.  A  cup  of  emerald  hung  by  a  golden  chain  near  the  fountain, 
and  invited  him  to  drink.  His  hand  already  held  the  cup  filled, 
when  suddenly  a  shuddering  seized  him.  He  poured  the  water 
away,  and  dropped  the  cup,  saying  to  himself,  "  It  is  still  cool,  and  I 
really  feel  no  thirst,  it  is  not  well  to  amuse  oneself  with  supernatural 
things."  He  spent  the  noon  with  his  old  acquaintance  the  water- 
carrier,  and  towards  evening  proceeded  in  the  direction  of  Babylon. 


I 


352  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

He  searched  long  before  he  found  the  spot  described  by  Lock- 
man.  The  sun  had  already  sunk  and  cast  his  rays  on  some  stones 
overgrown  with  ivy,  when  Ali  perceived  an  entrance,  and  fancied  he 
saw  Lockman.  As  he  went  towards  him,  Lockman  said : 

u  Have  you  come  at  last?  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  here  more 
than  an  hour.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  You  look  pale 
and  bewildered.  You  do  not  seem  to  have  confidence  in  me;  why 
did  you  not  drink  at  the  fountain  ?  Have  I  not  told  you  that  with- 
out confidence  nothing  can  succeed?" 

"  I  have  confidence,"  replied  Ali;  "  whoever  you  are,  mighty 
spirit,  bring  me  to  my  Gulhyndi !" 

"  I  am  a  man  like  yourself,"  replied  Lockman,  "  a  poor,  good- 
hearted  fellow,  who  takes  pleasure  in  helping  others  without  thought 
of  himself.  My  industry  has  taught  me  various  secrets  of  nature ; 
and  I  have  applied  my  skill  to  your  deliverance.  Having  discovered 
some  magnificent  ancient  vaults  of  Babylon,  now  in  ruins  for  many 
generations,  I  have  fitted  them  for  your  use ;  there  you  may  dwell 
happy  and  undisturbed  with  your  fair  Gulhyndi.  During  the  day 
you  may  walk  in  these  delightful  fields,  and  at  night  the  magnificent 
castle  beneath  will  enclose  you  within  its  strong  walls.  I  will  serve 
you  as  formerly,  and  my  delight  shall  be,  as  it  ever  has  been,  to  show 
ou  my  fidelity  and  devotedness."  When  he  had  said  these  words, 
e  took  Ali  by  the  hand,  and  conducted  him  down  a  stone  stair- 
case. 

Ali  followed  readily ;  but  when  he  had  counted  nearly  three  hundred 
steps  in  his  descent  into  the  earth,  and  still  found  no  end,  he  began 
to  quake.  It  was  pitch-dark  around  him,  the  only  light  they  had 
being  from  a  dark  lantern,  which  Lockman  held  in  his  hand,  and 
which  shone  full  on  his  face,  showing  Ali  his  hideous  features.  He 
fancied  he  often  saw  him  distort  his  face,  and  smile  malignantly. 
Just  as  he  had  counted  the  three  hundred  steps  he  stopped,  and 
cried:  "  Whither  do  you  lead  me?  I  can  go  no  farther.  My  Gul- 
hyndi is  an  angel  of  light,  she  cannot  be  in  the  darkest  abodes  of  the 
subterranean  world." 

Lockman  burst  out  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  making  the  cavern 
tremble,  and  the  light  in  his  kntern  was  extinguished.  "  Are  you 
afraid  to  be  in  the  dark?"  he  asked.  "  Well,  then,  it  shall  soon  be 
light!" 

He  now  struck  the  solid  rock  with  his  wand;  it  burst,  and  Ali 
found  himself  in  a  most  beautiful  place,  such  as  he  had  never  seen. 
He  seemed  to  stand  in  a  large  church;  slender  columns  of  brown 
porphyry  rose  high,  like  trees,  supporting  an  arched  ceiling  of 
emerald,  like  intertwined  foliage.  In  the  back  ground  stood  a 
shining  globe  of  red  crystal,  semi-transparent,  upon  an  altar.  This 
globe  illumined  the  whole  edifice,  and  appeared  like  the  full  moon 
in  the  horizon,  shedding  her  light  into  a  dark  forest.  From  this 
place  they  proceeded  through  a  narrow  passage,  which  ended  in 
a  cheerful  apartment,  the  walls  of  which  were  of  white  polished 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  353 

marble.  In  its  centre  was  suspended  a  chandelier  of  diamonds,  and 
at  the  further  end  a  purple  curtain,  falling  in  symmetrical  folds,  con- 
cealed a  magnificent  couch.  On  each  side  of  the  couch  stood  two 
lions  of  brass,  so  naturally  formed  as  to  appear  living,  had  not  the 
brightness  of  the  metal  proved  the  contrary.  "  You  are  now  in  the 
haven  of  your  joy  and  destination,"  said  Lockman.  "  Upon  this 
couch  slumbers  Gulhyndi,  whom  Heaven  has  destined  for  you.  She 
stretches  her  arms  towards  you,  and  it  remains  with  you  to  choose 
the  moment  when  you  will  be  the  happiest  of  mortals." 

When  Lockman  had  said  these  words,  he  drew  the  curtain,  and 
AH  saw  his  Gulhyndi  sleeping  in  the  most  charming  attitude  on 
black  silk  cushions.  Lockman,  contemplating  AH,  said,  as  he  left 
the  room,  "  Venture,  and  be  happy." 

AH  stood  there,  blushing  and  trembling.  The  noble  beauty  of 
Gulhyndi  inflamed  his  heart.  "  Come,  my  beloved,"  she  cried  in 
her  sleep,  stretching  out  her  arms,  "  come  to  my  heart." 

AH  hesitated  ;  he  approached  her,  but  suddenly  stopped.  "  No, 
Gulhyndi,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it  is  not  thus  we  should  meet  again  ! 
Sleep  sweetly !  I  will  go  and  await  the  moment  when  you  rise  and 
come  towards  me." 

With  these  words  he  drew  the  purple  curtain,  and  hastened  with 
quick  steps  to  the  church. 

Perfect  silence  and  peace  reigned  here.  The  brown  porphyry 
columns  rose  majestically,  and  the  light  from  the  moon  in  the  choir 
played  strangely  in  the  innumerable  precious  stones  which  covered 
the  ceiling  like  sparkHng  foliage.  AH  knelt  down.  "  Eternal 
Allah!"  he  cried,  "  I  stand  far  removed  from  thy  bright  moon,  far 
from  thy  genial  blooming  forest  that  adorns  the  surface  of  the  earth ! 
Anguish  and  expectation  oppress  my  bosom  in  the  dark  bowels  of 
the  earth,  where  burning  lamps  and  dead  stones  are  to  supply,  by 
their  nickering  gleam,  thy  holy  light,  thy  fresh,  young,  and  ever- 
changing  nature.  But  where  I  am,  there  thou  art  also !  Thou 
seest  me  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  as  on  the  highest  rocks.  I  am 
in  thy  power,  wherever  I  go,  and  resign  myself  confidently  to  thy 
protection." 

He  now  approached  the  choir,  where  the  shining  crystal  globe 
was  slowly  turning  on  the  altar.  Curious  to  know  how  it  was  con- 
trived, he  went  towards  it;  but  passing  an  open  door  which  he  per- 
ceived on  his  left,  and  which  seemed  to  be  the  entrance  to  a  mag- 
nificent burial  vault,  he  drew  near  it.  On  both  sides  of  the  door 
stood  two  giants  carved  in  black  stone,  with  drawn  swords  in  their 
hands.  Just  as  he  was  going  to  enter,  they  dropped  their  swords 
crosswise  before  the  entrance,  and  would  undoubtedly  have  cut  him 
to  pieces,  had  he  not  started  back  immediately.  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment in  astonishment,  but  soon  became  himself.  He  saw  that  the 
giants  again  raised  their  swords,  and  that  all  was  done  by  skilful 
mechanism.  He,  therefore,  was  careful  not  to  go  straight  up  to  the 
door,  but  slipped  boldly  round  one  of  the  giants,  treading  on  his 


354  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

feet  instead  of  the  threshold,  and  thus  by  a  dexterous  turn  found 
himself  suddenly  in  a  curious  vault.  The  knotty  walls  and  arches 
were  of  black  granite ;  here  and  there  blue  rays  of  light  fell  through 
fissures  in  the  rocks,  as  if  from  burning  saltpetre.  In  the  centre 
stood  an  open  silver  coffin,  in  which  was  the  body  of  a  female 
stretched  out,  attired  in  cloth  of  silver,  and  with  a  crown  of  dia- 
monds on  her  head.  One  blue  ray  fell  through  the  ceiling,  and 
illumined  her  pale  face.  Ali  shuddered,  and  was  starting  back, 
when  at  the  same  instant  he  discovered  a  sparkling  serpent  moving 
on  the  breast  of  the  corpse,  and  pointing  its  sting  at  her  heart.  In- 
spired with  a  pious  veneration  for  the  dead  now  before  him,  and 
indignant  that  a  creeping  vermin  should  desecrate  an  embalmed 
body,  Ali,  without  hesitation,  and  forgetful  of  his  own  danger,  has- 
tened near,  and  seized  the  serpent  by  the  head  to  fling  it  away.  But 
what  was  his  astonishment  at  perceiving  that  what  he  held  in  his 
hand  was  a  talisman  composed  of  precious  stones !  He  had  no 
sooner  removed  it  than  the  corpse  sighed  deeply,  opened  her  eyes, 
extended  her  arms,  and  rose  in  the  coffin.  She  looked  around  and 
contemplated  Ali,  who  stood  there  amazed,  with  the  talisman  in  his 
hand.  With  her  fore-finger  on  her  lips,  she  seemed  collecting  her 
thoughts;  then  stepped  from  the  coffin  and  approached  Ali,  with 
the  splendid  crown  on  her  head,  whilst  the  silver  train  of  her 
dress  swept  the  ground.  Ali,  shuddering,  exclaimed:  "Praised  be 
Allah,  the  most  merciful  being !" 

"  Praised  be  Allah  !"  she  repeated. 

When  Ali  heard  her  utter  the  name  of  Allah,  he  took  courage, 
and  his  confidence  increased  when  he  saw  the  living  red  return  to 
her  cheeks.  She  dropped  the  stiff  silver  robe  to  the  ground,  and 
now  stood  before  him  in  an  azure  garment,  over  which  fell  a  gauze 
wrought  with  silver  stars;  but  she  still  retained  the  crown  01  dia- 
monds. She  now  walked  back  to  the  coffin  to  take  the  emerald 
sceptre  that  had  laid  at  her  side,  and  as  she  seized  it  she  exclaimed : 
"Now  I  have  regained  the  power  I  lost;  thanks  be  to  Ali's  cou- 
rage, which  has  disenchanted  me  !" 

Ali  knelt  down;  he  knew  from  Gulhyndi's  description  that  she 
was  the  beautiful  fairy  who  had  once  appeared  to  his  beloved  in  a 
dream,  who  had  often  comforted  her,  and  of  whom  they  had  heard 
nothing  of  late. 

"  You  see  the  cause  of  my  not  having  appeared  to  Gulhyndi," 
said  the  gracious  Peribanu,  who  guessed  his  thoughts;  "  I  am  still 
your  mutual  friend.  Follow  me  to  the  mosque ;  a  few  words  will 
disclose  all  the  past." 

Thus  saying,  she  took  his  hand  and  led  him  to  the  splendid  vault, 
sat  down  upon  a  couch  at  some  distance  from  the  radiating  globe, 
and  said  as  follows:  "  I  am  a  good  fairy,  and  have  been  living  for 
some  time  at  enmity  with  the  wicked  Zelulu.  Being  once  inflamed 
with  love  for  me,  he  solicited  my  hand,  and  on  my  treating  him 
with  contempt,  he  has  ever  since  entertained  a  violent  hatred  towards 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  355 

me.  As  lie  was  not  able  to  vent  it  on  me,  he  has  wreaked  his 
vengeance  on  many  innocent  persons.  This  inveterate  hatred 
towards  them  proceeds  from  his  belief  that  they  do  not  really  pos- 
sess any  good  qualities.  He  thinks  that  their  inclinations  deserve 
nothing  better  than  to  be  disappointed,  and  he  has  repeatedly  told 
me,  that  he  has  no  more  compassion  for  a  fallen  man,  than  for 
the  insect  that  flies  of  its  own  accord  into  the  flame,  and  burns  its 
wings. 

"  When  I  once  met  him  in  a  windy  moonlight  night,  in  a  desert  of 
Upper  Asia,  I  cried  to  him  as  I  passed,  '  Zelulu,  have  pity  on  poor 
humanity.' 

"  '  Peribanu,'  he  replied,  '  you  have  none  on  me,  and  why  should 
I  have  any  on  wretched  mortals?' 

"  '  Love  cannot  be  forced,'  said  I,  '  but  reason  rules  every  thing, 
and  ought  to  rule  you.  Do  you  not  tremble  at  the  vengeance  of  the 
judge?' 

"  '  Teach  me  to  esteem  them,'  he  exclaimed,  '  and  I  will  cease  to 
persecute  them.' 

"  Some  time  after  that  he  came  to  me  in  a  friendly  manner,  say- 
ing, '  Peribanu,  allow  me  to  present  you  with  a  magnificent  orna- 
ment for  the  bosom.  I  shall  consider  your  acceptance  of  it  the  only 
way  of  compensating  for  the  contempt  you  have  expressed.' 

"  I  was  imprudent  enough  to  accept  this  beautiful  serpent  of  pre- 
cious stones,  which  you  now  hold  in  your  hand,  and  placed  it  on 
my  bosom.  I  had  scarcely  done  so  when  I  fell  into  a  death-like 
trance.  In  this  state  Zelulu's  slaves  brought  me  into  this  vault, 
where  I  should  have  continued  for  centuries  without  hope  of  de- 
liverance, had  not  Heaven,  through  you,  rescued  me.  Thus  the 
wicked  Zelulu  exercised  his  power  over  me  without  any  resistance. 
He  came  to  me  every  night,  asking  me  whether  I  would  love  him ; 
for  the  charm  was  so  contrived  that  it  deprived  me  of  the  exercise  of 
my  power  and  of  motion,  without  depriving  me  of  consciousness.  I 
have  always  answered  his  importunities  with  a  loud  and  distinct 
'  No !'  so  that  he  was  obliged  to  depart  without  hope." 

The  fairy  now  took  Ali  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  out  of  the 
mosque,  through  a  long  corridor,  into  the  apartment  of  white  marble. 
She  touched  his  eyelids  with  her  sceptre,  and  drew  aside  the  curtain. 
What  was  his  astonishment  when,  instead  of  his  Gulhyndi,  he  saw 
an  image  of  wax,  which  had  but  an  imperfect  resemblance  to  his 
beloved !  The  figure  stared  at  him  with  dull,  glassy  eyes,  like  a 
painted  corpse.  He  could  not  conceive  how  it  was  possible  to 
have  mistaken  this  horrible  pale  lump  for  his  Gulhyndi.  Peribanu 
struck  the  wax  figure  with  her  sceptre,  it  broke,  and  a  hideous  knot 
of  poisonous  serpents  rolled  from  its  bowels,  and  fled  into  the  clefts 
of  the  rocks  for  fear  of  her  wand.  Ali  cast  his  eyes  on  the  two 
metal  lions  which  stood  on  either  side  of  the  couch,  and  saw  in 
amazement  that  they  were  living.  They  wagged  their  tails,  and 


356  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

stared  with  fiery  eyes  at  him.  "  Flee,"  cried  the  fairy,  raising  her 
wand,  and  they  fled  quickly,  like  obedient  dogs. 

"  Go  home  to  your  father,"  said  the  good  fairy,  "  do  all  he  com- 
mands you,  and  this  shall  be  the  means  of  your  happiness.  You  will 
see  Gulhyndi  again." 

With  these  words  she  led  him  up  the  steps  to  an  aperture,  say- 
ing, "  Go,  you  will  find  yourself  in  a  well-known  spot,  not  far  from 
your  native  city.  Remember  what  I  have  told  you,  and  forget  me 
not." 

Saying  this,  she  vanished.  Ali  stepped  out,  and  found  himself  by 
the  brink  of  Ali  Haymmamy's  fountain.  It  was  a  fine  morning,  and 
the  rising  sun  cast  his  rays  upon  him.  He  stood  for  a  moment  and 
looked  down  into  the  depth,  scarcely  knowing  whether  what  he  had 
passed  through  was  a  dream  or  reality :  he  remarked  at  the  same 
time  that  he  still  had  the  talisman  in  his  hand.  He  was  careful 
not  to  bring  it  near  his  bosom ;  but  kept  it  as  a  sign  of  the  past  sin- 
gular events,  and  wrapped  it  in  the  folds  of  his  turban.  Now  he  set 
out  on  his  way  with  a  heart  joyful  and  full  of  hope,  and  before 
noon  he  arrived  at  his  father's  at  Bagdad. 

The  following  morning  Ibrahim  said  to  Ali,  "  I  am  rejoiced,  my 
son,  that  you  have  begun  to  compose  yourself.  There  is  no  better 
remedy  against  melancholy  thoughts  than  amusement.  I  intend 
taking  a  journey  to  Samarcand  in  a  few  days,  and  doubt  not  that 
it  will  be  very  advantageous  to  us.  I  have  already  received 
my  goods  from  a  port  on  the  Red  Sea,  and  expect  to  barter  them 
profitably  for  the  precious  things  of  Upper  Asia.  My  advantage 
is  yours;  therefore  go  too,  it  will  cheer  you  and  assist  me." 

Ali,  recollecting  what  the  fairy  had  told  him,  looked  upon  his 
father's  proposal  as  a  presage  of  his  happiness ;  and  soon  Ibrahim 
and  his  son  departed  from  Bagdad,  with  a  large  number  of  slaves 
and  heavily  laden  camels.  Not  far  from  the  city  they  fell  in  with 
another  caravan,  and  now  hastened,  as  quickly  as  circumstances  per- 
mitted, through  many  remarkable  countries  and  cities  of  the  far- 
famed  Samarcand. 

During  their  journey  they  were  often  obliged  to  cross  deserts  and 
trackless  steppes,  where  Ibrahim,  never  having  made  this  journey 
before,  trusted  himself  to  a  guide.  After  having  thus  travelled  for 
several  months,  and  stopped  at  different  places,  they  one  evening 
passed  through  a  desert.  The  guide,  a  little  deformed  man,  with  a 
red  nose,  assured  them  that  this  would  be  the  last,  and  promised 
that  within  three  days  they  would  reach  their  destination. 

As  they  now  passed  through  a  narrow  valley,  bounded  on  cither 
side  by  lofty  rocks,  and  thickly  overgrown  with  pine  trees,  a  most 
terrible  phenomenon  presented  itself,  that  dispersed  the  whole  caravan. 
A  thunder-storm  came  on,  and  the  lightning  struck  a  mighty  cedar, 
the  resinous  bark  of  which  immediately  ignited.  The  whole  tree 
was  instantly  in  a  blaze,  and  the  crackling  fire  spread  on  every  side; 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  357 

all  tlie  pine,  fir,  larch,  and  cedar  trees  were  in  one  blaze.  The 
lurid  tongues  of  the  flames  rushed  fearfully  along  the  mountain  ridge 
in  the  dark  night.  A  thick  smoke  arose  and  darkened  the  air  be- 
yond. In  the  universal  confusion,  where  each  only  thought  of 
saving  himself,  Ibrahim  lost  sight  of  his  son.  Ali  anxiously  searched 
for  his  father  but  without  success.  Throughout  the  awful  night  he 
rode  about  on  his  camel  until  it  would  no  longer  carry  him.  Terri- 
fied at  the  fire,  it  at  length  threw  him  off  and  rushed  into  the  flames. 
Ali  forced  his  way  boldly  through  a  narrow  pass  in  the  rocks,  which 
the  lire  had  not  yet  reached.  Having  passed  through  it,  he  saw  be- 
fore him  a  large  valley  and  a  wood  beyond.  He  rallied  his  last 
energies  to  reach  it,  and  sank  down  exhausted  near  a  tree,  where,  by 
the  light  of  the  burning  forest,  he  saw  that  the  fire  was  not  likely  to 
penetrate  so  far;  more,  his  failing  strength  did  not  permit  him  to  ob- 
serve, and  weariness  closed  his  eyes. 

When  he  awoke,  his  first  thought  was  of  his  father.  He  felt  re- 
freshed by  a  short  sleep,  and  hastened  onward.  The  country, 
although  it  was  autumn,  wras  blooming  as  though  it  were  spring; 
nature  had  not  purchased  her  fruits  with  her  blossoms,  but  fruit  and 
blossoms  glowed  side  by  side  in  sisterly  concord.  He  had  never 
seen  such  green  fresh  turf,  nor  such  a  variety  of  flowers.  Straight  be- 
fore him  opened  a  beautiful  grove,  with  splendid  orange  and  date  trees, 
where  he  sat  down  and  took  refreshment  in  the  cool  solitude.  As 
he  sat  buried  in  thought,  he  heard  a  voice  call,  u  Ah' !  Ali !"  Asto- 
nished, he  looked  round  but  saw  no  one.  Thinking  he  had  been 
mistaken,  he  continued  eating  his  repast  quietly.  Suddenly  the 
voice  again  cried  directly  opposite  to  him,  "Ali!  Ali!"  and  the 
name  was  repeated  in  several  places.  He  now  discovered  a  quantity 
of  beautiful  parrots  flying  about,  which  looked  at  him,  and  repeated 
with  complacency  his  name.  "  Who  has  taught  them  this?"  said 
Ali,  to  himself,  and  a  sweet  glow  darted  through  his  veins.  The 
parrots  still  repeated,  "  Ali !  Ali !  Come !  Come !"  and  fluttered  from 
bough  to  bough.  He  followed  them,  and  found  himself  at  length 
before  a  thick  hedge  that  was  impenetrable.  The  birds  flew  over 
it,  perched  within  it,  and  again  cried,  '' Ali!  Ali!"  He  now 
looked  for  an  entrance,  and  finding  one,  at  last  entered,  and  saw  a 
splendid  lawn,  enclosed  by  a  semicircular  hedge,  both  ends  of  which 
terminated  by  a  rocky  wall.  In  the  centre  of  the  turf  was  a  flower- 
bed, whither  one  of  the  birds  flew,  again  repeating  his  name.  Look- 
ing at  the  pknts,  he  discovered  they  were  all  arranged  in  letters; — 
great  was  his  delight  when  he  found  an  A.  and  G.  beautifully 
entwined,  and  he  no  longer  doubted  where  he  was.  He  discovered 
the  beautiful  grotto,  and  hastened  to  it,  exclaiming,  "  My  Gulhyndi, 
where  art  thou?"  To  these  words  a  sweet  voice  replied : 

"Ali,  dear  Ali !  where  canst  thou  be? 
Oft  thy  Gulhyndi  weeps  for  tliee." 

"  What  is  that?    It  is  not  her  voice,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  birds." 


358  ALT  AND  GULHYNDI. 

"My  All!  My  beloved  friend!  thy  Gulhyndi  often  weeps  for 
tliee,"  said  a  pert  starling,  hopping  about  on  the  ground  and  picking 
up  some  seeds. 

u  Ali !  Ali!"  cried  the  parrots,  without. 

"  Ali !  Ali !  my  beloved  friend  !  Gulhyndi  often  weeps  for  thee," 
said  the  starling,  stretching  out  her  neck,  bending  not,  and  looking 
at  him  shrewdly. 

Now  a  fine  bird,  in  a  golden  cage,  began  to  whistle  a  melody 
which  Ali  had  taught  Gulhyndi  shortly  before  they  parted.  "  Oh, 
she  loves  me !"  he  cried.  "  She  is  here !  She  has  taught  these  fea- 
thered songsters  my  name  and  my  songs.  How  many  times  must  her 
lips  have  repeated  these  words  before  these  birds  knew  them."  At 
this  moment  he  heard  some  one  approaching;  "  It  is  she  !"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  but  she  must  not  see  me  yet — I  must  prolong  this  blessed 
moment."  With  his  staff  he  traced  the  following  lines  in  the  sand: 

"  Lovely  Gulhyndi,  sorrow  no  more, 
What  hate  has  taken,  love  will  restore  ; 
The  sun  is  more  bright  when  the  storm  is  o'er." 

He  had  scarcely  done  this  than  the  fair  Gulhyndi,  like  a  lovely 
queen  of  nature,  appeared  with  her  numerous  train.  As  a  proud 
body  guard,  there  stepped  before,  with  majestic  step,  two  large  bay 
coloured  lions,  with  thick  manes.  By  her  side  walked  the  beautiful 
Argus,  as  a  faithful  friend;  while  the  most  lovely  birds  fluttered, 
and  the  most  lovely  beasts  of  the  forest  gamboled  around  her.  The 
train  was  closed  by  a  troop  of  snow-white  lambs  with  red  ribbons 
round  their  necks,  each  having  a  singing-bird  on  its  head,  chirping, 
while  the  lambs  bleated.  Last  of  all  came  a  stag,  whose  large  antlers 
were  hung  with  bells ;  so  that  the  bleating  of  lambs,  the  singing  of 
birds,  and  the  bells  of  the  stag  were  not  unlike  a  merry  band  of 
Turkish  music. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  grotto,  the  two  lions  lay  down  on  either 
side  of  the  entrance,  and  Gulhyndi,  with  her  Argus,  entered.  All 
the  rest  remained  without,  forming  a  semicircle,  while  Gulhyndi 
took  her  repast.  Two  monkeys  stood  behind  her  couch,  officiating 
as  servants,  and  offering  her  fruit,  and  water  from  the  fountain. 
Argus  stood  by  her  side,  and,  with  his  beak,  caught  in  the  air  all 
the  fragments  which  she  flung  to  him  with  her  white  hand.  All 
that  he  missed,  so  that  it  fell  to  the  ground,  the  little  starling  snapped 
up  before  Argus  had  time  to  stoop  after  it. 

When  the  repast  was  over,  Argus  went  to  the  entrance,  spread 
his  shining  fan,  and  turned  it  several  times,  upon  which  the 
assembled  courtiers  without  dispersed.  Only  the  lions  remained  at 
their  post,  and  Argus  remained  in  the  grotto  with  her  mistress,  as 
lady  in  waiting. 

Ali  trembled  with  emotion  when  he  beheld  Gulhyndi,  her  fair 
hair  flowing  in  long  tresses.  She  wore  a  green  silk  robe,  fastened 
with  a  purple  girdle,  without  any  other  ornament.  She  appeared 
taller,  more  blooming  and  majestic;  she  was  no  longer  the  languish- 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  359 

ing,  pensive,  Oriental  beauty  sighing  for  liberty,  but  the  healthy, 
sprightly  daughter  of  Eve,  blooming  as  the  fairest  flower  in  nature. 
Still  a  soft  desire  seemed  to  depress  her  arched  brow,  and  indicated 
that,  in  the  midst  of  abundance,  she  still  lacked  something. 

While  she  was  sitting  with  her  eyes  cast  downwards,  she  disco- 
vered the  lines  traced  on  the  sand.  She  immediately  recognised 
the  characters,  but  was  doubtful  whether  she  should  trust  her  eyes. 
What  was  her  delight  when  convinced  of  the  truth,  by  the  happy 
Ali  hastening  and  throwing  himself  at  her  feet !  Both  now  were  in 
Paradise. 

When  their  first  transport  was  over,  they  related  all  that  had 
happened  to  them  since  they  last  met.  She  told  him  that  once, 
when  she  was  alone  in  the  grotto,  the  two  lions  had  suddenly  broken 
through  the  hedge.  At  this  she  was  at  first  alarmed,  but  soon  reco- 
vered on  seeing  that  they  lay  down  on  either  side  of  the  entrance, 
like  obedient  dogs,  and  followed  her  as  faithful  guards.  AH  could 
not  suppress  an  inward  shudder  at  seeing  that  they  resembled  the 
bronze  lions  which,  at  Peribanu's  command,  had  become  hairy,  and 
left  the  subterranean  apartment.  He  now  built  a  hut  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  his  Gulhyndi,  without  concern  for  his  father,  whom  he 
confidently  supposed  was  in  the  power  of  the  fairy.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, this  poor  father  had  not  fared  so  well  as  his  happy  son 
wished. 

Ibrahim  wandered  for  a  long  time  in  that  awful  night;  he  has- 
tened to  the  opposite  side  to  get  clear  of  the  burning  wood,  in- 
stead of  penetrating  through  it  as  Ali  had  done.  The  ground 
became  so  stony  and  rugged,  that  he  could  no  longer  ride  on  his 
camel.  He  tied  it  to  a  tree,  and  endeavoured  to  make  his  way  on 
foot  through  the  thick  bushes,  in  order  to  reach  a  high  tree,  on 
which  he  might  pass  the  night  without  fear  of  serpents  and  wild 
beasts.  As  he  proceeded,  he  fell  into  a  dark,  damp,  deep  pit,  where 
he  lay  for  some  time  senseless.  When  he  recovered,  he  had  only  a 
faint  recollection  of  the  causes  of  his  present  situation ;  he  had  quite 
forgotten  Hussain's  and  Gulhyndi's  death,  and  fancied  he  had 
fled  with  his  son  from  Bagdad,  to  escape  the  persecutions  of  the 
malicious  cadi. 

He  had  not  remained  long  in  this  state  before  he  saw  coming 
through  a  narrow  rocky  path,  a  little  person  dressed  in  black  like 
a  miner,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  "  Lockman,"  cried  Ibrahim, 
who  immediately  recognised  him,  "  you  here,  and  in  this  garb  !  What 
does  this  mean?  Where  is  my  son?" 

"  You  had  better  be  your  son's  keeper  yourself,"  replied  Lock- 
man; "  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  but  I  have  something  to  do 
with  you.  Up  to  work !  you  are  now  my  slave." 

With  these  words  he  seized  Ibrahim,  exhausted  as  he  was,  and 
led  him  to  the  icy  cold  bath  in  the  cleft.  He  then  brought  him  out 
again,  and  gave  him  bread  and  water,  such  as  he  had  given  to  Hussain; 

2  B 


360  ALI  AND  GULHYNDI. 

but  in  his  cup  there  "was  no  leech,  and,  on  the  whole,  he  treated  him 
less  harshly  than  the  cadi. 

When  Ibrahim  had  taken  his  scanty  meal,  Lockman  said:  "  Get 
up  and  go  with  me;  it  was  always  your  favourite  business  to  seek 
riches.  I  will  show  you  the  way  to  gold  and  precious  stones." 

He  then  took  him  to  the  desert,  and  commanded  him  to  search. 
When  Ibrahim  was  left  alone  he  was  much  confused,  and  grieved, 
but  Lockman's  threats  made  him  obey.  Walking  about  in  the  burn- 
ing heat,  he  passed  a  high  piece  of  rock,  in  the  shade  of  which  some 
grass  was  growing.  He  there  beheld  a  pale,  haggard  man  with 
sunken  cheeks,  sitting  down,  greatly  exhausted.  Being  naturally 
compassionate,  he  quickly  ran  for  a  pitcher  of  water,  which  he 
had  taken  to  the  desert  to  quench  his  thirst  while  working,  and 
which,  to  keep  the  water  fresh,  he  had  buried  in  the  sand.  This  he 
brought,  and  put  it  to  the  lips  of  the  fainting  man.  The  poor  man 
drank,  was  refreshed,  folded  his  hands  as  he  raised  his  eyes,  and 
said:  "  Who  art  thou,  angel  from  heaven,  that  assistest  me  in  my 
extremity?" 

Ibrahim  knew  the  voice,  and  cried  in  amazement,  "  Hussain, 
is  it  you?" 

Hussain  stared  at  him,  saying,  as  well  as  exhaustion  permitted, 
"  Ibrahim,  are  you  here?  How,  have  you  come  into  this  vale  of 
tears  to  comfort  your  enemy?" 

"  By  some  evil  fate  I  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  mine  enemy," 
replied  Ibrahim,  "  who  has  condemned  me  to  seek  gold  and  precious 
stones  in  this  desert."  When  he  said  these  words,  Hussain  put  out 
his  hands  for  the  sack  which  he  had  filled  that  day  with  much  labour ; 
but  what  was  his  terror  on  finding  it  half  empty  f  "  What  is  this?" 
he  cried;  "  have  you  come  even  in  the  last  moments  of  my  life  to 
rob  me  and  expose  me  to  frightful  punishment?" 

Ibrahim  affirmed  that  he  had  taken  nothing;  he  felt  compassion 
for  poor  Hussain,  and  forgot  his  own  trouble. 

"You  lie,  infamous  fellow,"  cried  Hussain;  "  your  bag  is  full, 
you  have  filled  it  from  mine." 

"  I  assure  you,"  replied  Ibrahim,  "  that  I  have  taken  nothing, 
nor  have  I  ever  thought  of  grieving  you,  and,  as  a  proof,  I  will  ex- 
change my  bag  for  yours  whenever  you  wish."  He  then  offered  his 
own.  "  Stop  here  and  rest  yourself,"  he  continued.  "  I  am  not 
yet  so  tired  as  to  be  unable  to  try  to  fill  a  second  bag  before  evening." 
He  left  him,  and  with  much  pains  collected  the  second  half.  Hus- 
sain did  not  know  what  to  think  of  all  this,  and  both  went  together 
to  the  cavern  without  speaking. 

"  Are  your  bags  full?"  cried  the  monster,  who  was  sitting  at  the 
entrance  as  they  arrived.  "  Empty  them  before  me."  Ibrahim  emp- 
tied his  bag  first;  it  was  full  of  gold  and  precious  stones.  Hussain  came 
with  the  one  Ibrahim  had  given  him — and  it  contained  nothing  but 
sand  and  pebbles.  Lockman  looked  silently  incensed  at  Hussain, 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  361 

took  him  by  the  arm,  and  led  him,  weak  and  fainting,  again  to  the 
terrible  rushing  shower-bath,  where,  for  want  of  strength,  he  would 
have  fallen  into  the  abyss,  had  not  Lockman  seized  him  and  flung 
him  half  dead  on  the  sand. 

"  He  is  a  villain,"  said  he  to  Ibrahim,  while  the  other  lay  faint- 
ing. "  I  will  tell  you  plainly  that  he  has  slandered  you  to  me,  and 
is  the  sole  cause  of  my  receiving  you  so  harshly.  I  hate  him,  for  he 
is  not  even  fit  to  do  the  work  of  a  slave.  If  you  will  do  me  a  service 
I  will  restore  you  to  liberty,  bring  you  to  your  son,  and  arrange 
every  thing  so  that  you  may  again  live  in  Bagdad  in  your  former 
happy  circumstances." 

"  What  do  you  desire?"  asked  Ibrahim. 

"  I  am  a  spirit,  and  cannot  dispose  arbitrarily  of  the  life  of  a 
mortal.  You,  on  the  other  hand,  have  power  to  destroy  each  other; 
take  this  knife  and  thrust  it  into  Hussain's  heart,  then  I  will  restore 
you  to  your  former  happiness,  and  give  you  all  the  gold-dust  and 
precious  stones  in  my  cavern." 

"  Far  be  it  from  me,"  said  Ibrahim,  "  to  act  thus  even  to  my 
bitterest  enemy.  May  God  forgive  the  evil  we  have  done,  and  for 
which  we  are  both  now  suffering.  My  hatred  is  extinguished.  I 
have  this  day  exchanged  my  bag  for  his,  with  the  honest  intention 
of  lightening  his  burden.  That  it  has  turned  out  so  badly  is  not  my 
fault."  _ 

"  Ball  him,"  cried  Lockman,  threatening  as  he  reached  him  the 
knife,  "  or  I  will  throw  you  a  hundred  fathoms  deep  into  the  abyss, 
among  serpents  and  adders !" 

"  Throw  me,"  cried  Ibrahim,  with  firmness,  clasping  his  hands, 
and  raising  his  eyes  to  the  stars. 

"  You  have  regained  courage,"  said  Lockman,  scoffing. 

"  Misfortune  inspires  that,"  replied  Ibrahim. 

"  Daring  man,"  cried  Lockman,  "  you  are  not  yet  ripe,  I  will 
chastise  you  slowly."  So  saying  he  left  him. 

"  Poor  Hussain!"  sighed  Ibrahim  as  he  looked  on  the  pale  man. 
Hussain  opened  his  eyes,  gave  a  friendly  smile,  and  extended  his  hand 
to  him,  saying, 

"  I  heard  what  passed  between  you  and  the  sorcerer;  whose 
wicked  design  has  ill  succeeded.  What  was  to  separate  us  has  united 
us.  I  now  know  you;  can  you  forgive  me?" 

Ibrahim  embracing  him  said,  "  Will  you  again  be  my  friend?" 

"  For  life  and  death,"  said  Hussain,  returning  the  embrace  of  his 
former  enemy.  They  knelt  down,  and  Mahornmed's  holy  moon 
shone  on  their  reconciliation,  which  was  sealed  by  a  kiss,  as  she  cast 
her  pale  gleam  over  the  desert,  and  the  faint  reflection  from  the  sand 
was  increased,  as  if  rejoicing  that  from  the  desert  of  affliction  a  flower 
had  sprung,  which  the  Eden  of  a  life  of  luxury  could  not  produce. 

Lockman  returned,  looked  at  the  reconciled  friends,  and  burst  into 
a  hideous  laugh.  "  I  suppose  you  now  fancy  yourselves  happy,  and 
that  vou  have  gained  peace  of  mind,"  he  said;  "  do  not  think  it. 

2  B2 


362  ALl  AND  GULHYNDI. 

Hussain  is  lost  for  ever.  Allah  has  turned  his  eyes  from  him  for  en- 
deavouring to  shorten  the  days  of  his  child  and  his  own.  He 
is  mine  for  ever !" 

"  None  possesses  that  eternal  power  but  Allah,"  cried  Hussain, 
who  had  now  recovered.  "  Having  saved  my  life,  you  have, 
against  your  will,  assisted  my  salvation.  As  long  as  there  is  life 
there  is  hope  ;  as  long  as  man  lives  he  may  become  better." 

"  You  have  killed  your  daughter,"  saidLockman;  "you  have 
spilled  her  blood,  you  are  an  infanticide  1" 

Hussain  turned  pale. 

"  She  lives,"  cried  a  sweet  voice  from  on  high,  "  take  courage 
and  hope." 

"  Ah !  is  she  released  from  her  sleep  of  death?"  exclaimed  Lock- 
man  in  consternation,  and  vanished. 

From  this  time  Ibrahim  and  Hussain  were  faithful  friends,  they 
shared  their  troubles,  and  found  consolation  in  each  other's  society. 
It  was  no  longer  difficult  to  discover  gold  and  precious  stones  in  the 
desert;  they  had  only  to  go  out  and  search,  and  immediately  found 
what  they  wished.  During  this  time  the  sun  was  shaded,  and  a  light 
breeze  was  blowing ;  they  at  last  discovered  recesses  in  the  rocks  for 
shade,  flowers,  and  springs.  When  Lockman  perceived  this  he  took 
them  into  the  mines,  where  he  forced  them  to  laborious  employment. 
But  even  here  their  fortune  attended  them.  They  learned  of  them- 
selves to  cut  the  ore  which  they  easily  found.  In  this  familiar  in- 
tercourse with  quiet,  sublime  nature,  their  hearts  opened,  their  minds 
became  elevated,  and  their  bodies  strengthened.  They  no  longer 
loved  wealth  and  vanity,  but  God,  the  wonderful  works  of  nature, 
and  each  other.  Lockman  had  no  further  power  to  molest  them. 

The  only  thing  that  still  caused  them  exertion,  and  even  bodily 
pain,  was  a  torn  apron  of  thick,  hard  leather,  such  as  miners  wear, 
which  Lockman  had  given  them  to  sew  together.  The  needle  often 
broke  under  their  bleeding  fingers  while  sewing  it.  They  shared 
their  task  freely,  each  taking  it  when  the  other  was  tired.  One 
evening,  when  it  was  still  far  from  being  finished,  Lockman  ordered 
them,  with  violent  threats,  to  remain  up  all  night  to  complete  it  by  the 
next  morning.  They  exerted  all  their  strength  to  accomplish  this  task, 
though  they  hardly  thought  it  possible,  when  Hussain,  who  was 
sewing,  towards  morning,  while  Ibrahim  wras  sleeping,  unluckily 
thrust  the  awl  so  deep  into  his  hand  that  he  screamed  with  pain,  and 
in  despair  threw  the  hard  leather  on  the  ground.  Ibrahim  awaking 
at  this,  sought  his  turban  to  bind  Hussain's  wound.  Whilst  looking 
at  it  he  perceived  that  it  was  his  son's,  which  he  had  mistaken  for 
his  own  the  last  night  they  spent  together.  As  he  now  took  off  the 
cloth,  the  singular  talisman  which  Ali  had  concealed  met  his  view. 
He  looked  long  at  it,  and  discovering  the  many  precious  stones,  said: 
"  Our  tyrant  has  a  fancy  for  rare  and  precious  stones,  and  these  are 
finer  than  I  have  ever  seen,  I  will,  therefore,  place  this  splendid 
jewel  on  his  bed;  he  will  rejoice  on  awaking,  and  his  stern  mind 


ALI  AND  GULHYNDI.  363 

will  relent,  perhaps,  even  though  he  may  not  find  the  apron  repaired." 
With  this  intention  he  went  into  the  cavern  where  Lockman  slept, 
and  placed  the  talisman  on  the  bare  chest  of  the  sorcerer.  He  then 
hastened  back,  bound  his  friend's  wound,  and  continued  sewing  as 
long  as  he  was  able. 

The  sun  was  now  high,  but  Lockman  still  slept,  contrary  to  his 
custom.  Hussain  crept  in  and  found  him  in  a  profound  slumber. 
Both  friends  thanked  Providence,  which  saved  them  from  ill-treat- 
ment, and  Ibrahim  said :  "  Perhaps  he  may  sleep  the  whole  day,  and 
we  shall  gain  time  to  finish  our  task." 

They  now  vied  with  each  other,  one  sewing  while  the  other  rested 
or  fetched  water  and  bread  for  refreshment,  but  the  night  came,  and 
still  their  work  was  unfinished.  Thus  they  went  on  for  three  days 
and  four  nights,  their  hands  bleeding  and  swollen,  their  eyes  dim 
with  working,  but  their  courage  unabated.  Their  mutual  feelings 
of  friendship  and  sympathy  and  their  honest  exertion  enabled  them 
to  accomplish  their  work.  A  secret  presentiment  told  them  it  was 
for  the  happiness  of  their  future  life  that  they  had  to  restore  the  hard, 
rigid,  and  torn  apron. 

When  the  fourth  morning  dawned,  they  put  in  the  last  stitch, 
and  with  tears  of  joy,  then  embraced  each  other,  exclaiming  in  rap- 
ture, while  they  extended  their  hands  towards  heaven  in  gratitude  : 
"  It  is  finished  !"  "It  is  finished  !"  they  heard  an  harmonious  voice 
repeating.  They  raised  their  eyes,  and  behold,  the  damp,  dark  cavern 
where  they  stood,  was  changed  into  a  beautiful  bright  grotto.  Be- 
fore them  stood  the  lovely  Peribanu,  with  her  crown  of  stars  and 
her  emerald  sceptre,  saying,  with  a  friendly  smile,  "  It  is  finished! 
Look  what  you  have  joined  again !"  Hussain  and  Ibrahim  looked  at 
the  apron  they  still  held,  and  behold  !  it  was  the  splendid  gold  cloth 
which  Ibrahim  once  in  anger  had  torn  in  the  market-place,  and  with 
it  Hussain's  friendship. 

"  It  had  suffered  great  damage,"  said  Peribanu,  "  and  it  has  cost 
you  labour  and  trouble  to  sew  it  together  again  ;  but  it  is  restored. 
The  threads  of  early  friendship  arc  again  united,  the  flowers  of  child- 
hood, which  were  torn  up  by  the  roots,  are  again  planted  in  the 
golden  ground  of  your  life." 

Ibrahim  recognised  in  her  beautiful  features  the  kindly  woman  who 
had  once  come  to  him  in  the  hour  of  midnight,  to  beg  the  gold 
cloth  as  a  bridal  dress  for  her  daughter.  "  You  must  really  give  it 
me  for  a  bridal  dress  for  my  daughter,"  said  Peribanu,  "  this  very 
day  I  shall  celebrate  her  nuptials."  Ibrahim  gave  it  her.  Peribanu 
waved  her  sceptre,  a  curtain  was  raised,  and  Ibrahim  and  Hussain 
saw  their  children  crowned  with  flowers,  kneeling  at  an  altar  before 
the  sacred  image  of  the  Moon. 

"  The  beaming  symbol  of  the  prophet  perpetually  changes,"  said 
Peribanu,  "  bringing  joy  and  sorrow  according  to  the  law  of  eternal 
fate.  On  you  it  has  now  bestowed  happiness.  The  life  of  Ali  and 


364  ALAMONTADE. 

Gulhyndi  will  be  like  a  fine  spring  morning,  and  the  old  age  of 
Ibrahim  and  Hussain  a  glorious  September  day." 

When  she  had  said  this,  she  conducted  the  bridal  pair  to  their 
parents,  who  embraced  them  with  delight,  and  gave  them  the  pater- 
nal blessing.  "  Your  joy  will  no  more  be  troubled  by  the  snares  of 
malice,"  she  said,  "  for  it  is  caught  in  its  own  trap."  She  again 
waved  her  sceptre,  the  rock  burst,  and  they  saw  the  young  king  with 
a  crown  of  rubies  on  his  head,  in  a  purple  mantle,  stretched  out,  pale 
as  death,  on  a  couch,  while  the  lamp  of  death  was  burning  over  his 
head.  The  expression  of  cunning  and  malice  was  in  his  countenance 
even  in  his  death-slumber.  "  Sleep  on  for  ever,"  cried  the  fairy. 
"  Levity  will  some  day  again  release  me,"  he  said  in  a  hollow 
voice,  and  the  vault  closed.  "  For  this  cycle,  at  least,  nothing  is  to 
be  feared,"  replied  Peribanu. 

Hereupon  the  good  fairy  celebrated  the  nuptials  of  the  young 
couple,  and  beautiful  Nature,  with  all  her  creatures,  shared  the  fes- 
tival. They  lived  long  and  happily  in  the  bosom  of  nature,  like 
our  first  parents  in  the  beginning  of  creation,  and  gave  to  posterity 
lovely  children,  who  became  the  ancestors  of  a  powerful  race  in  the 
mountains.  Hussain  and  Ibrahim  died  at  a  great  age,  and  their 
grandchildren  mourned  over  them.  The  good  fairy  never  left  Ali 
and  Gulhyndi. 

C.  A.  F. 


ALAMONTADE. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  TIMES  OP  LOUIS  XIV.,  BY  HEINRICH  ZSCHOKKE. 

A  SMALL  village  in  Languedoc  was  my  home  and  birth-place.  I 
lost  my  mother  very  early.  My  father,  a  poor  farmer,  could  spend 
but  little  for  my  education,  although  he  was  very  saving;  and  yet  he 
was  far  from  being  the  poorest  in  the  village.  He  was  obliged  to  give 
for  taxes,  besides  the  tithe  on  his  vineyards,  olive  plantations,  and 
corn  lands,  a  fourth  of  what  he  earned  with  great  trouble.  Our 
daily  food  was  porridge,  with  black  bread  and  turnips. 

My  father  sank  under  his  troubles.  This  grieved  him  very  sorely. 
"  Colas,"  said  he  frequently  to  me,  with  troubled  voice,  laying  his 
hand  upon  my  head,  "  hope  forsakes  me.  I  shall  not,  in  spite  of  the 
sweat  on  my  brow,  lay  my  head  down  in  the  coffin  without  leaving 
debts  behind.  How  shall  I  keep  the  promise  which  I  made  to  your 
mother,  with  the  last  kiss,  on  her  death-bed  ?  I  solemnly  promised 
her  to  send  you  to  school  and  make  a  clergyman  of  you.  You 
will  become  a  labourer  and  a  servant  to  strangers." 

In  such  moments  I  comforted  the  good  old  man  as  well  as  I  could. 


ALAMONTADE.  365 

But  childish  consolation  only  made  him  still  more  dejected.  He 
became  worse,  and  felt  the  approach  of  his  last  days.  He  often 
looked  at  me  with  concern  and  care  for  my  future  life;  and  the 
bitter  tear  of  hopelessness  moistened  his  eyes.  When  I  saw  this  I 
abandoned  my  sports;  I  jumped  up  to  him,  for  I  could  not  bear  to 
see  him  weeping ;  I  clung  to  his  neck,  kissed  away  the  tears  from 
his  eyelashes,  and  exclaimed,  sobbing,  "Oh!  my  father,  pray  do 
not  weep !" 

What  a  happy  people  might  inhabit  that  country  where  the  fer- 
tile soil  yields  two  harvests  yearly  to  the  agriculturist,  and  olives  and 
grapes  ripen  in  abundance  by  the  warm  rays  of  the  sun !  But  an 
oppressed  race  of  men  creeps  over  this  blooming  earth.  They  give 
the  fruits  of  their  necessity  and  labour  to  the  gormandising  bishops, 
who  promise  them,  for  the  sufferings  in  this  world,  the  everlasting 
joys  of  a  future  life;  they  give  their  gain  to  the  nobles  and  princes, 
who,  in  return,  profess  themselves  willing  to  govern  the  country  with 
wisdom  and  goodness.  One  banquet  at  court  devours  the  annual 
produce  of  a  whole  province,  wrung  from  the  lap  of  the  earth  with 
millions  of  groans,  and  millions  of  drops  of  sweat. 

I  had  attained  my  eighteenth  year  when  my  father  died.  It  was 
a  serene  evening,  and  the  sun  near  its  setting.  My  father  was  sit- 
ting before  our  cot  in  the  shade  of  a  chesnut  tree,  he  wished  once 
more  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  a  world  that  had  become  dear  to  him 
amidst  all  his  sorrows.  When  I  returned  home  from  the  fields,  I 
went  up  to  him,  and  found  him  already  faint;  he  clasped  me  in  his 
arms,  and  said,  "  Oh,  my  son !  I  now  feel  happy.  Mine  eve  is  ap- 
proaching ;  and  I  shall  go  to  rest.  But  I  shall  not  forget  thee.  I 
shall  stand  before  the  Almighty  with  thy  mother ;  above  yonder  stars 
we  will  pray  for  thee.  Think  of  us,  and  be  faithful  to  virtue  even  to 
death !  We  will  pray  for  thee.  Thou  art  under  the  care  of  the  Al- 
mighty, therefore  weep  not.  For  when  once  thou  shalt  have  ended 
thy  day's  work  thy  evening  hour  will  also  strike.  Then  thou  wilt 
find  us  yonder,  me  and  thy  mother.  Oh,  Colas,  with  what  longing 
we  shall  await  thee  there !  What  a  delight  it  will  be  when  the  three 
blessed  hearts  of  the  parents  and  the  child  will  again  palpitate  against 
each  other  before  the  throne  of  God ! " 

The  last  ray  of  the  sun  grew  pale  on  the  distant  mountain  tops; 
the  world  was  plunged  in  a  gray  twilight.  The  spirit  of  my  father 
had  freed  itself  from  the  frail  frame  of  its  beloved  body,  which  now 
lay  in  my  arms. 

Our  faithful  servant — whose  name  has  escaped  my  memory — being 
directed,  by  the  last  wish  of  my  father,  to  take  me  to  my  uncle, 
011  my  mother's  side,  Etienne,  held  me  by  the  hand  when  we  were 
pacing  through  the  dark  and  narrow  streets  of  the  city  of  Nismes. 
I  trembled.  An  involuntary  shudder  seized  upon  my  mind.  "  You 
are  trembling,  Colas,"  said  the  servant;  "  you  look  pale  and  anxious; 
are  you  not  well?" 

"  Alas !"  exclaimed  I,  "do  not  bring  me  to  this  dark,  stony  laby- 


366  ALAMONTADE. 

rinth.  I  am  as  terrified  as  if  I  were  going  to  die  here.  Let  me  be  a 
common  labourer  in  my  verdant  native  village.  Look  only  at  these 
walls,  they  stand  here  like  those  of  a  dungeon ;  and  those  men  look 
as  confused  and  troubled  as  though  they  were  criminals." 

"  Your  uncle,  the  miller,"  replied  he,  "  does  not  live  in  this  city; 
his  house  stands  outside  the  Carmelite-gate  in  the  open  green  fields." 

Men  are  apt  to  believe  that  the  soul  possesses  a  secret  faculty  for 
anticipating  its  future  fate.  When  I  became  a  fellow-sufferer  in 
that  horrible  misfortune,  the  history  of  which  has  filled  with  shud- 
dering every  sensible  heart  of  the  civilised  world,  I  remembered  the 
first  apprehensive  anxiety  which  I  felt  in  the  streets  of  the  gloomy 
Nismes,  on  entering  the  city,  and  which  I  then  took  for  an  omen. 
Even  the  most  enlightened  man  cannot  entirely  divest  himself  of  a 
superstitious  fear  when  his  despairing  hope  gropes  about  in  vain  for 
help  in  darkness. 

The  impression  that  Nismes  had  made  upon  me  remained  per- 
manent within  me.  This  was  natural.  Accustomed  to  live  in  and 
with  nature,  solitary  and  simple,  the  stirring  crowd  of  the  busy  town 
had  a  terrifying  effect  upon  me.  My  mother  had  rocked  me  under 
the  branches  of  the  olive  trees,  and  my  childhood  I  had  dreamed 
away  in  the  green,  cheerful  shade  of  chesnut  groves.  How  could 
I  bear  living  within  the  narrow,  damp,  walls,  where  only  the 
thirst  for  money  brings  men  together?  In  solitude  the  passions 
die  away,  and  the  heart  assumes  the  tranquillity  of  rural  nature. 
The  first  sight,  therefore,  of  so  many  faces,  in  which  anger  and  care, 
pride  and  avarice,  debauchery  and  envy,  had  left  behind  their  traces, 
and  which  were  no  more  perceived  by  him  who  saw  them  daily, 
made  me  tremble. 

Outside  the  Carmelite-gate  was  the  house  of  my  uncle,  and  by 
the  side  of  it  his  mill.  The  servant  pointed  with  his  hand  to  the 
fine  building,  and  said,  "  M.  Etienne  is  a  wealthy  man,  but  alas — " 

"  And  what  then — alas?" 

"  A  Calvinist,  as  people  say." 

I  did  not  understand  him.  We  entered  the  beautiful  building, 
and  my  anxiety  vanished.  A  tranquil,  kind  spirit  spoke  to  me,  as  it 
were,  from  every  thing  I  beheld,  and  I  felt  as  happy  as  if  I  were  in 
my  native  place. 

In  a  neat  room,  marked  by  simplicity  and  order,  the  mother  was 
sitting  at  the  table,  surrounded  by  three  blooming  daughters,  busy 
with  domestic  work.  A  boy  of  two  years'  old  sat  playing  in  his 
mother's  lap.  Kindness  and  tranquillity  were  on  every  countenance. 
All  were  silent,  and  directed  their  looks  to  me.  My  uncle  stood  at 
the  window  and  was  reading.  His  locks  were  already  gray,  but  a 
youthful  serenity  beamed  from  his  looks.  His  air  was  that  of  piety. 
The  servant  said  to  him,  "  This  is  your  nephew,  Colas,  M.  Etienne. 
His  father,  your  brother-in-law,  died  in  poverty.  He  ordered  me, 
therefore,  to  bring  his  son  to  you,  that  you  might  be  a  father  to 
him." 


ALAMONTADE.  367 

"My  welcome  and  blessing  to  you,  Colas!"  said  M.  Etienne, 
laying  his  hand  upon  my  head;  "  I  will  be  your  father." 

Then  arose  Mdme.  Etienne,  who  offered  me  her  hand,  and  said, 
"  I  will  be  your  mother." 

My  heart  was  much  moved  by  this  kindness.  I  wept,  and  kissed 
the  hands  of  my  new  parents,  without  being  able  to  utter  a  word. 
Now  their  three  daughters  surrounded  me,  and  said,  "  Do  not  weep, 
Colas,  we  will  be  your  sisters."  From  this  hour  I  was  as  much  ac- 
customed to  my  new  home  as  if  I  had  never  been  a  stranger  to  it. 
I  fancied  myself  living  in  a  family  of  quiet  angels,  of  whom  my 
father  had  often  told  me.  I  became  as  pious  as  they  all  were,  and 
yet  I  never  could  surpass  them  in  piety. 

I  was  sent  to  school.  After  the  lapse  of  half-a-year,  M.  Etienne 
told  me  one  day,  with  a  very  kind  look,  "  Colas,  you  are  poor,  but 
God  has  blessed  you  with  superior  talents  ;  your  masters  praise 
your  industry,  and  say  how  wonderfully  you  surpass  all  your  fellow- 
scholars  in  learning.  I  therefore  have  come  to  the  resolution  that 
you  shall  devote  yourself  to  study.  When  you  have  completed 
your  term  at  Nismes,  I  will  send  you  to  the  academy  of  Mont- 
pellier.  You  shall  study  the  law,  which  will  enable  you  to  become 
a  defender  of  our  oppressed  church.  I  behold  in  you  an  instrument 
of  God  for  our  salvation,  and  for  the  protection  of  the  Protestant 
faith  against  the  cruelty  and  violence  of  the  Papists." 

M.  Etienne  was  secretly  a  Protestant,  as  also  were  several  thou- 
sands in  Nismes,  and  in  the  places  surrounding  it.  He  initiated  rne  into 
the  doctrines  of  his  faith.  The  Protestants  were  laborious,  quiet, 
and  benevolent  citizens;  but  the  hatred  of  the  people  and  the  fury 
of  the  priests  persecuted  these  unfortunate  individuals  even  to  the 
interior  of  their  homes.  They  lived  in  continual  fear ;  yet  this  kept 
up  the  ardour  of  piety  more  alive  in  the  hearts  of  all.  By  compulsion, 
and  for  the  sake  of  appearance,  we  frequented  the  churches  of  the 
Catholics,  celebrated  their  holy  days,  and  kept  the  images  of  their 
saints  in  our  rooms.  But  neither  this  compliance,  nor  the  practi- 
cal piety  of  the  persecuted,  could  appease  the  hatred  of  the  per- 
secutors. 

Wavering  between  two  different  persuasions,  to  one  of  which  I  be- 
longed publicly,  to  the  other  secretly,  a  daily  witness  of  the  bitter 
quarrels  of  both  parties;  and  how  much  more  pride,  hatred,  and  selfish- 
ness, than  conviction  and  piety,  flocked  to  the  standards  of  the  belli- 
gerent churches,  I  became,  without  knowing  it,  a  hypocrite  and  a  dis- 
believer to  both.  The  grounds  upon  which  each  attacked  the  contested 
doctrinal  points  of  the  other,  were  better  weighed,  more  subtle  and 
effective  than  those  upon  which,  the  value  of  that,  which  was 
thus  attacked,  was  defended.  This  raised  within  me  a  distrust 
against  all  tenets ;  only  those  that  never  had  been  attacked  retained 
a  lasting  sway  in  my  eyes.  Yet  I  concealed  my  inward  thoughts 
from  all,  that  I  might  not  be  an  abomination  to  all. 

Thus  my  mind  isolated  itself  early.      God  and  His  creation  were, 


368  ALAMONTADE. 

in  my  leisure  hours,  the  objects  of  my  contemplation.  I  had  a  horror 
for  the  frensy  of  men,  with  which  they  persecuted  one  another  on 
account  of  a  changing  opinion,  a  tract  of  country,  or  a  title  of 
princes.  Early  I  felt  the  hardness  of  my  fate  in  living  among 
beings  who,  in  every  thing,  judged  differently  from  myself.  I  saw 
myself  surrounded  by  barbarians  or  half-savages,  not  yet  much  more 
humanised  than  those,  at  whose  sacrifices  of  men  we  are  struck  with 
horror.  If  the  ancient  Celts,  or  the  Brahmins,  or  the  savages  of  the 
wilds  of  America  butcher  human  beings  at  the  altars  of  their  gods, 
were  they  in  this  more  monstrous  than  the  modern  Europeans, 
who,  at  the  altars  of  their  gods  (since  opinions  are  the  gods  of 
mortals)  butcher,  in  their  pious  zeal,  thousands  of  their  brethren  ?  I 
lamented  over  the  atrocities  of  the  age  I  lived  in,  and  saw  no 
means  that  could  remove  the  general  ferocity  of  nations.  The 
animal  nature  of  man  is  everywhere  the  prevailing  one.  Food, 
concupiscence,  and  greediness  'jfor  power  are,  as  in  every  species  of 
animals,  the  most  powerful  provocatives  to  activity;  they  are  the 
sources  of  harmony  as  well  as  of  discord,  of  the  rise  and  fall  of 
nations.  Disinterested  virtue,  eternal  right,  and  incontrovertible 
truth,  are  more  felt  than  recognised  and  encouraged.  Their  names 
are  proclaimed  in  the  schools,  while  their  essence  does  not,  at  all 
times,  pervade  the  teachers  themselves.  And  whoever  should,  with 
a  pious  zeal,  profess  them,  would  soon  become  the  laughing-stock  of 
those  surrounding  him,  and  the  victim  of  the  general  frensy. 

The  present  time  was  too  gloomy  for  me,  I  longed  for  things 
nobler  and  more  perfect.  In  the  period  of  a  blooming  imagination, 
I  could  not  but  create  a  more  beautiful  world,  in  which  virtue,  jus- 
tice, and  truth,  embraced  each  other,  and  where  the  senses  diffused 
the  tenderest  feelings.  I  turned  poet,  and  lamented  the  fall  of 
Rome  and  Greece,  which  gave  hopes  of  a  more  delightful  existence 
of  mankind,  and  bitterly  disappointed  their  expectations. 

The  ruins  of  the  vast  amphitheatre  at  Nismes,  that  ancient  splendid 
monument  of  Roman  greatness,  became  my  favourite  haunt.  When 
walking  through  the  lofty  arcades  between  the  gray  pillasters,  or 
looking  down  over  the  magnificent  ruins  from  the  Attica,  I  felt 
as  if  the  spirit  of  that  majestic  antiquity  embraced  me,  and,  lament- 
ing, pressed  me  to  its  breast. 

Here  I  lingered  with  pleasure,  but  never  without  a  feeling  of  sad- 
ness. The  remains  of  long-departed  human  generations  became  to 
me  books  of  history.  The  hands  of  several  nations  have  been  patch- 
ing up  this  work  of  Roman  magnificence.  The  two  half-decayed 
towers  of  the  Attica,  solitary  masses  of  stone  piled  up  without 
taste  and  sense  of  art,  were  reared  by  the  Goths,  the  conquerors  of 
the  Romans.  And  the  huts  of  wood  in  the  arena  beneath,  are  the 
dwellings  of  poor  labourers  and  workmen  of  modern  days.  What 
a  change  of  times,  and  of  the  men  that  lived  in  them ! 

The  shriek  of  a  female  under  the  vaults  startled  me  one  evening 
out  of  my  dreams.  Darkness  had  already  crept  into  the  halls.  I 


ALAMONTADE.  369 

hastened  down  the  steps  from  the  second  story,  and  perceived  a 
well-dressed  woman  in  the  power  of  a  common  man.  The  sound  of 
my  steps  frightened  the  villain,  and  he  disappeared  among  the 
columns.  A  young  girl  with  dishevelled  hair  sat  on  a  block  of 
marble,  trembling,  and  almost  beside  herself  with  fright. 

"  Have  you  sustained  any  harm?"  I  asked  her. 

She  raised  her  hand  to  her  head,  and  said:  "  It  was  a  robber,  sir, 
who  had  torn  off  my  head-dress,  consisting  of  some  pins  of  value ; — 
nothing  further.  I  entreat  you  to  afford  me  your  protection,  as  I  am 
a  stranger  in  this  place.  It  was  from  curiosity  I  left  my  mother  and 
sister  who  are  waiting  without.  This  man  was  to  guide  me  back 
from  this  extensive  labyrinth,  and  he  led  me  to  this  remote  spot." 

I  offered  her  my  arm ;  we  stepped  out  to  the  daylight.  Oh  !  my 
Clementine!  .... 

She  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  delicately  and  beautifully  formed. 
She  floats  at  my  side,  like  an  aerial  being ;  I  did  not  perceive  her 
steps.  The  sweetness,  freshness,  and  intellectual  expression  of  her 
countenance  were  angelic,  and  her  look,  full  of  innocence  and  love, 
penetrated  my  inmost  soul. 

I  sank  into  a  pleasant  confusion.  I  had  never  before  known  such 
a  sensation  of  confidence  and  admiration,  of  inexpressible  affection 
and  profound  respect.  I  had  grown  up  to  the  age  of  twenty-one,  I 
knew  love  only  from  the  pictures  of  the  ancient  poets,  and  I  called 
it  a  passionate  friendship,  unworthy  a  man.  Alas !  it  was,  indeed, 
something  very  different.  Love  is  the  poetry  of  human  nature. 
The  sensation  we  experience  in  contemplating  beauty,  ennobles 
rude  sensuality,  and  elevates  it  to  a  point  of  contact  with  the  spi- 
ritual, so  that  the  virtuous,  independent  spirit  unites  itself,  under  the 
magic  influence  of  grace,  with  the  earthly.  Thus  it  is  true  that 
love  deifies  the  mortal  clay,  and  draws  down  upon  earth  what  is 
heavenly. 

Thus  I  went  on,  and  I  had  lost  all  my  recollection,  till  we  arrived 
at  the  Carmelite-gate,  where,  suddenly,  I  came  to  myself  again. 

"  You  are  a  stranger?"  I  asked,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied;  "  but  it  is  in  vain  that  we  seek  my  mother 
and  sister.  Do  you  know  the  house  of  M.  Albertas  ?  It  is  there 
we  live." 

"  I  will  bring  you  to  it." 

We  turned  round  towards  the  street  where  M.  Albertas  resided. 
What  a  change!  The  narrow  dark  streets  seemed  no  longer  to 
me  like  damp  dungeon  walls,  but  like  splendid  clouds  through  which 
men  were  passing  like  shadows. 

We  did  not  speak.  We  came  to  the  house.  The  door  was  joy- 
fully opened.  The  whole  family  pressed  forward  to  welcome  the  be- 
loved lost  child,  for  whom  servants  had  been  sent  out,  who  were 
still  in  search  of  her.  It  was  then  that  I  heard,  amidst  a  thousand 
caresses  towards  her,  the  name,  "  Clementine."  She  thanked  me  in  a 
few  words,  not  without  blushing.  All  the  rest  did  the  same ;  but 


370  ALAMONTADE. 

I  was  unable  to  reply.     They  asked  my  name;  I  told  it  them, 
bowed,  and  left  the  company. 

I  was  often  afterwards  in  the  amphitheatre,  and  my  way  led  me 
frequently  through  the  street  in  which  M.  Albertas  lived.  Her  I  did  not 
see  again ;  but  her  image  was  constantly  hovering  before  me,  in  my 
waking  hours  as  well  as  in  my  dreams.  The  hope  of  beholding  the 
beautiful  vision  again  forsook  me ;  but  not  so  my  longing  after  her. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  felt  that  I  stood  alone  in  the  world,  and 
that  I  could  not  cling  to  a  being  akin  to  myself.  I  was  without  a 
mother  and  father,  without  a  sister  or  brother.  Beloved  by  the 
family  of  my  uncle,  I  still  looked  upon  myself  amidst  them,  only 
as  a  fortunate  orphan ;  and  upon  all  who  loaded  me  with  their  kind- 
ness, I  looked  as  upon  beings  elevated  above  myself. 

The  time  approached  when  I  was  to  be  sent  to  the  academy  of 
Montpellier.  M.  Etienne  repeated  to  me  his  wishes,  and  conjured 
me  not  to  disappoint  his  expectations.  In  the  excess  of  his  confi- 
dence in  my  youthful  faculties,  he  saw  in  me  the  future  protecting 
angel  of  the  Protestant  church  in  France.  He  gave  me  his  blessing, 
whilst  the  whole  family  stood  weeping  round  me  as  I  took  my 
farewell.  I  promised  to  come  to  Nisrnes  in  all  my  vacations,  and 
went  away  overpowered  with  grief. 

The  distance  from  Montpellier  to  Nismes  is  full  eight  leagues.  I 
walked  in  the  shade  of  mulberry- trees,  between  the  golden  fields  of 
corn,  and  along  the  vineyards  on  the  chain  of  hills,  overtopped  by 
the  gray  Sevennes.  But  the  air  was  glowing,  and  the  ground  be- 
neath my  feet  burning.  After  three  hours'  walk,  I  sank  fatigued 
on  the  banks  of  the  Vidourle,  in  the  shade  of  a  neat  villa  and  its 
chesnut  trees. 

I  reflected  on  my  past  and  future  life.  I  computed  the  time  I 
had  lived,  and  the  space  of  time  still  remaining,  according  to  the 
general  measure,  for  my  sphere  of  action.  I  found  I  had  still  forty 
years,  and,  for  the  first  time,  I  shuddered  at  the  shortness  of  our  life. 
The  oak  on  the  mountains  wants  one  century  for  its  development,  and 
stands  for  another  in  its  full  vigour,  while  man's  existence  is  so  tran- 
sitory! And  wherefore  is  it  thus?  How  shall  he  employ  his 
faculties?  Not  a  long  life,  but  a  life  of  variety,  is  given  to  mortal 
man  by  nature.  This  thought  quiets  me.  Well,  then,  I  said  to 
myself,  forty  years  more,  and  I  shall  stand  perfected  where  my 
father  is. 

Pursuing  these  thoughts,  I  gradually  fell  into  a  slumber.  In  my 
dream  I  imagined  myself  an  old  man ;  my  limbs  were  heavy,  my 
hair  gray;  the  thousand  fine  pores  of  the  skin,  by  which  the  body 
imperceptibly  imbibes  vitality,  and  is  nourished  by  the  elements, 
were  dried  up.  With  the  decreasing  influx  of  life,  the  power  of  the 
muscles  relaxed,  the  delicate  parts,  which  we  call  organs,  gradually 
hardened  and  closed.  I  heard  no  more  of  the  world,  and  the  light 
of  my  eyes  was  also  extinguished.  While  the  senses,  by  which 
the  spirit  is  rooted  to  the  earth  were  thus  dying  away,  the  feelings 


ALAMONTADE.  371 

became  weaker,  the  ideas  fainter,  and  all  that  was  formerly  communi- 
cated to  the  mind  by  the  active  senses  was  lost.  I  was  no  longer 
master  of  my  body,  and  had  forgotten  the  names  of  things  and  their 
use.  Men  fed  me,  dressed  and  undressed  me,  and  treated  me  as  a 
child.  I  was  still  able  to  speak,  but  often  wanted  words,  and  some- 
times uttered  phrases  which  no  one  understood ;  thoughts  still  pre- 
sented themselves,  and  I  felt,  though  without  regret,  that  I  no  more 
belonged  to  the  earth.  Soon,  however,  I  was  not  able  to  give 
utterance  to  my  thoughts;  but  had  only  an  unvarying,  torpid  con- 
sciousness of  existence,  such  as  we  feel  while  sleeping,  when  not  even 
dreams  present  themselves.  This  state,  always  the  same,  without 
any  external  change,  was  unaccompanied  by  pleasure  or  pain ;  there 
was  no  variety  of  thought,  therefore  no  succession  or  notion  of  time. 
In  short,  I  had  been  dead  for  a  long  period,  and  my  body  had  been 
buried  and  mouldering  for  centuries.  Only  on  earth,  during  the 
existence  of  the  senses,  where  we  count  the  change  of  things,  we 
can  speak  of  ages,  and  the  succession  of  events  suggests  to  us  the 
notion  of  time.  Abstracting  from  all  idea  of  change,  time  no  longer 
exists. 

A  pleasing,  indefinable  sensation  produced  a  change  in  me;  my 
mind,  before  isolated,  was  connected  with  new  organs  which  opened 
to  me  a  larger  sphere  of  action  in  the  universe. 

I  began  to  feel  more  and  more  conscious,  I  heard  a  gentle  rustling 
around  me,  which  invigorated  me  with  its  delightful  freshness.  Be- 
fore me  floated  dazzling  golden  rays,  whilst  silvery  clouds  sportively 
passed  along.  I  cast  my  wandering  gaze  on  the  bright  transparent 
verdure  of  the  surrounding  boughs,  which  waved  in  the  crystal 
ether  like  aerial  forms,  and  between  the  boughs  and  the  clouds  shone 
Clementine,  motionless,  in  ineffable  beauty,  a  wreath  of  fresh  flowers 
entwining  her  dark  hair. 

She  smiled  on  me  with  an  expression  of  innocent  love ;  took  the 
wreath  from  her  hair,  waved  it  with  her  delicate  hand,  and  it  dropped 
on  my  breast. 

"  Oh !  heavenly  dream  never  depart  from  me,"  I  said,  while  gazing 
with  inexpressible  rapture  on  the  beautiful  vision. 

While  I  was  in  this  state  a  carriage  rolled  past.  Clementine's 
countenance  darkened  on  hearing  her  name  called. 

"Farewell,  Alamontade,"  said  she,  and  disappeared  amidst  the 
trembling  boughs. 

At  that  moment  I  was  going  to  fall  at  her  feet  but  found  myself 
on  the  ground.  I  was  no  longer  in  a  dream,  for  I  perceived  the 
Vidourle  and  the  chateau  in  the  shade  of  the  lofty  chesnut  trees. 

I  rose  and  heard  a  carriage  rattling  over  the  bridge,  and  as  I 
hastened  along,  an  old  servant  approached,  and  asked  whether  I 
wished  any  refreshment.  On  my  evincing  astonishment,  he  asked, 
. "  Are  you  not  M.  Alamontade?"  I  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Then 
he  said,  "  Mademoiselle  de  Sonnes  and  her  mother  have  left  me 


372  ALAMONTADE. 

orders  to  that  effect !"  I  went  back,  took  up  the  wreath  and  followed 
the  servant.     Clementine  was  Mademoiselle  de  Sonnes. 

That  day  was  the  happiest  and  most  memorable  of  my  life. 

A  garret  in  the  back  part  of  the  house  of  M.  Bertollon,  one  of 
the  richest  and  most  fortunate  citizens  of  Montpellier  was  my  dwell- 
ing. Some  roofs,  black  walls,  and  two  windows,  with  the  balconies 
of  a  house  in  the  opposite  street  were  my  only  prospect;  still  I  was 
happy.  Surrounded  by  books,  I  lived  only  to  study,  and  Clemen- 
tine's wreath  hung  over  my  table.  The  millions  of  spring  blossoms 
lost  their  splendour  before  the  magic  of  these  withered  flowers,  and 
the  jewels  of  kings  were  valueless  to  me  in  comparison  with  the 
smallest  leaf  of  the  clover. 

Clementine  was  my  saint,  and  I  loved  her  with  a  pious  veneration, 
such  as  we  feel  for  angelic  beings.  Her  wreath  was  a  relic,  which 
an  angel  had  let  fall  on  me  from  heaven.  In  my  dreams  I  saw  her 
surrounded  by  glory,  and  she  was  the  subject  of  my  poetic  effusions. 
I  looked  most  anxiously  for  the  vacations  of  the  college  to  see  my 
uncle  and  Nismes,  and  perhaps,  by  some  happy  chance,  my  adored 
saint. 

One  day  the  door  of  my  solitary  room  opened,  and  a  handsome 
young  man  entered.  It  was  M.  Bertollon.  "  You  have  a  gloomy 
prospect,"  he  said,  as  he  stepped  to  the  window,  "  still  it  extends  to 
part  of  the  house  of  M.  de  Sonnes,  one  of  the  most  tasteful  in  the 
town,"  he  added,  smiling. 

At  that  name  I  became  agitated.  M.  Bertollon  stood  thought- 
fully at  the  window  and  appeared  melancholy.  We  resumed  the 
conversation,  and  he  asked  my  name  and  the  nature  of  my  studies. 
Having  mentioned  my  fondness  for  the  harp,  he  said:  "Do  you 
play  the  harp  and  love  it  passionately  without  possessing  one?" 

"  I  am  too  poor,  sir,  to  purchase  one,  for  the  little  money  I  have 
is  scarcely  sufficient  to  procure  the  books  that  I  need  most." 

"  My  wife  has  two  harps  and  can  well  spare  one,"  he  replied,  and 
left  me. 

Before  an  hour  elapsed  the  harp  was  sent.  How  happy  was  I !  I 
now  thought  of  Clementine,  and  struck  the  chords.  Sentiments  are 
speechless ;  words  have  been  invented  to  express  thoughts,  and  melo- 
dious tones  to  express  the  feelings  of  the  heart. 

On  the  following  morning  the  amiable  Bertollon  came  again,  and 
I  thanked  him  with  emotion.  He  asked  me  to  play,  and  I  complied 
with  his  request,  still  thinking  of  Clementine.  He  was  leaning 
with  his  forehead  against  the  window,  and  gazed  sadly  on  the  op- 
posite roofs.  My  soul  was  enrapt  in  the  fulness  of  harmony,  and 
I  did  not  perceive  that  he  had  turned  and  stood  listening  near  me. 

"  You  are  a  delightful  magician,"  he  said,  and  embraced  me  with 
warmth;  "  we  must  become  friends." 

^  I  was  his  friend  already,  and  in  the  space  of  a  few  weeks  our  in- 
timacy increased.     During  our  short  excursions,  when  the  weather 


ALAMONTADE.  373 

was  fine,  he  gradually  introduced  me  to  a  numerous  acquaintance, 
who  treated  me  uniformly  with  esteem  and  attention,  and  Bertollon 
seemed  only  happy  in  my  society.  In  possession  of  a  considerable 
library,  and  a  museum  of  natural  history,  he  entrusted  me  with  their 
superintendence,  and  appeared  to  have  chosen  this  as  a  way  of  as- 
sisting my  slender  means,  by  a  considerable  annual  income,  without 
hurting  my  feelings. 

Bertollon  was  in  more  than  one  respect  a  distinguished  man.  His 
acquirements  were  various  ;  he  possessed  wit  and  eloquence  ;  he 
captivated  by  his  gracefulness  and  dignity  ;  in  company  he  was  the 
spirit  of  joy,  and  his  sole  aim  was  to  gain  the  esteem  of  his  fellow- 
citizens.  He  had  already  refused  several  public  appointments  with  a 
modesty  which  made  him  still  more  worthy  of  general  confidence.  He 
was  wealthy,  the  partner  in  a  large  commercial  house,  was  possessed 
of  one  of  the  most  delightful  chateaux  on  the  height  of  the  neigh- 
bouring village  of  Castelnau,  and  was  the  husband  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful woman  of  Montpellier.  His  wife  usually  lived  at  the  chateau, 
where  Bertollon  saw  her  but  seldom,  but  in  winter  she  resided  in 
town.  Their  alliance  seemed  to  have  been  formed  not  from  love,  but 
convenience  and  interest. 

What  made  this  man  still  more  remarkable  to  me  was  his  freedom, 
from  all  prejudice,  in  a  town  which  seemed  entirely  animated  by 
religious  fanaticism,  and  where  he  only  was  an  exception.  Notwith- 
standing this  he  went  frequently  to  mass,  and  was  himself  a  member 
of  the  fraternity  of  the  Penitents.  "  It  is  so  easy/'  he  used  to  say, 
"  to  reconcile  men  ;  we  need  but  pay  homage  to  their  prejudices  if 
we  cannot  combat  and  conquer  them,  and  are  sure  to  gain  all  hearts. 
He  who  wages  open  war  against  prejudices  is  as  much  a  fanatic  as 
he  who  defends  them  with  arms." 

We  nevertheless  were  often  involved  in  friendly  disputes.  He 
considered  happiness  the  grand  end  of  man,  and  recognised  no  bounds 
in  the  choice  of  means  to  that  end  ;  he  derided  my  ardent  zeal  for 
virtue,  called  it  a  work  of  social  order,  and  proved  to  me  that  it  as- 
sumed different  colours  among  different  nations.  His  wit  sometimes 
made  me  appear  ridiculous  to  myself,  by  following  my  cardinal  vir- 
tues to  different  nations,  where  he  always  confounded  them.  But 
notwithstanding  the  danger  of  these  principles,  Bertollon  was  dear 
to  me,  for  he  always  did  what  was  right. 

While  I  thus  devoted  my  time  to  friendship  and  the  muses,  the 
two  windows  and  the  balcony  of  the  house  of  De  Sonnes  were  not 
forgotten.  M.  Bertollon  had  more  than  once  offered  to  exchange  my 
garret  for  a  room  in  his  house,  which  was  furnished  in  costly  style, 
and  commanded  an  extensive  and  cheerful  prospect.  But  I  would 
not  have  exchanged  my  poor  garret  for  his  best  drawing-room,  or 
for  the  prospect  of  the  paradise  of  Languedoc. 

By  chance — for  a  singular  shyness  prevented  me  from  making  in- 
quiries— I  learned  that  the  family  De  Sonnes  would,  in  a  few  weeks, 


374  ALAMONTADE. 

return  to  Nismes,  and  that  they  were  in  great  grief  for  Clementine's 
sister,  who  had  died  lately. 

The  few  weeks,  and,  indeed,  the  quarter  passed.  As  often  as  I 
played  the  harp,  my  eye  was  fixed  on  those  beloved  walls,  but  the 
family  De  Sonnes  did  not  return,  and  no  chance  brought  me  further 
intelligence.  I  was  silent,  and  concealed  my  love  from  the  world. 

The  vacation  arrived;  I  hastened  to  Nismes  in  hopes  of  being 
happier  there.  As  I  passed  the  chateau  on  the  Vidourle  I  stopped. 
All  was  closed,  though  the  fields  and  vineyards  were  thronged  with 
reapers  and  grape -gatherers.  I  looked  for  the  magic  spot  under 
the  chesnut  trees,  where  dream  and  reality  were  once  so  magically 
blended.  I  threw  myself  under  the  waving  branches,  and  on  the 
spot  which  Clementine's  foot  had  once  hallowed  by  its  touch.  Love 
and  sadness  weighed  me  down,  and  I  kissed  the  sacred  ground 
which  had  then  borne  all  that  the  world  contained  most  dear  to  me. 

In  vain,  alas !  I  looked  for  the  angelic  vision.  I  left  the  delight- 
ful spot  when  evening  approached,  and  only  the  rocky  summits  of 
the  Sevennes  reflected  the  sun's  golden  rays  over  the  dusky  plain. 

My  uncle  Etienne  and  the  pious  mother,  with  my  cousins,  Maria, 
Antonia,  and  Susanna,  received  me  with  affecting  joy.  I  embraced 
them  all  speechlessly  and  rapturously,  and  knew  not  who  expressed 
the  greatest  affection  for  me,  or  whom  I  most  loved.  I  was  the  son 
and  brother  of  the  family;  I  felt  at  home,  and  was  the  joy  of  them 
all. 

"  Yes,"  said  my  uncle,  with  emotion,  "  you  are  the  joy  of  us  all,  and 
the  hope  of  our  church.  All  the  reports  from  Montpellier  have  praised 
your  industry,  and  have  expressed  the  esteem  your  teachers  enter- 
tain for  you.  Continue,  Colas,  to  strengthen  yourself,  for  our  suffer- 
ings are  great,  and  the  affliction  of  the  true  believers  knows  no  end. 
God  calls  you  to  become  his  chosen  instrument  to  break  the  power 
of  Antichrist,  and  to  raise  triumphantly  the  gospel  now  trodden  in 
the  dust." 

The  fears  of  my  uncle  had  been  particularly  increased  of  late  by 
the  harsh  expressions  of  the  governor  of  the  province  against  the 
secret  Protestants.  The  Mareschale  de  Montreval  resided  in  Nismes, 
and  was  the  more  powerful  and  formidable  as  he  possessed  the  un- 
bounded confidence  of  the  king.  His  threats  against  the  Calvinists 
spread  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  were  the  common  talk  even  of  the 
boys  in  the  street. 

I  was  harassed  by  another  care.  In  vain  had  I  wandered  daily 
up  and  down  the  street  in  which  the  house  of  M.  Albertas  was 
situated;  in  vain  had  I  loitered  in  the  amphitheatre;  Clementine 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

One  morning  I  met  the  old  servant  who  had  entertained  me,  by 
the  orders  of  Madame  de  Sonnes,  in  the  chateau.  He  recognised 
me  joyfully,  shook  me  by  the  hand,  and  told  me,  among  a  thousand 
other  things,  that  Madame  dc  Sonnes  and  her  daughter  had  left 


ALAMONTADE.  375 

Nismes  for  some  months,  but  had  gone  to  Marseilles  to  seek  relief 
from  their  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  a  beloved  daughter  and  sister,  in  the 
amusements  of  that  great  commercial  city. 

My  hopes  of  seeing  Clementine  once  more  being  thus  disap- 
pointed, I  walked  sadly  home.  All  the  joyful  expectations  which 
had  supported  me  for  the  last  six  months  were  frustrated.  I  deter- 
mined to  go  to  Marseilles,  which  was  only  three  days'  journey, 
there  to  search  every  street  and  window,  attend  every  church  and 
mass,  to  discover  her,  if  only  for  a  moment ; — would  she  not,  for  so 
much  trouble,  give  me  one  kind  look  ? 

But,  on  cooler  reflection,  I  soon  abandoned  my  wild  scheme,  and 
returned  home  more  dejected  than  ever. 

With  surprise,  I  there  perceived  an  unusual  embarrassment  and 
trouble  in  every  countenance. 

My  aunt  came  towards  me,  put  her  hands  on  my  shoulders,  and 
kissed  me  with  an  air  of  deep  melancholy;  my  cousins  kindly 
seized  my  hand,  as  if  wishing  to  comfort  me. 

"  What  is  it,  after  all?"  asked  my  uncle,  with  a  powerful  voice; 
who,  notwithstanding  his  air  of  piety,  had  something  heroic  in  his 
character;  "  you  know  that  a  good  Christian  is  most  cheerful  when 
the  waves  of  misfortune  are  lashed  most  tempestuously.  The  devil 
has  no  power  over  us,  and  providence  has  numbered  every  hair  of 
our  heads.  The  mareschale  is  not  beyond  the  power  of  the  Al- 
mighty." 

I  expressed  my  surprise  at  this.  "  You  are  right,  Colas,"  said 
my  uncle,  "  and  I  am  grieved  at  the  despair  of  the  women.  The 
Mareschale  de  Montreval  sent  orders  here  an  hour  ago  for  you  to 
go  to  the  castle  to-morrow  morning,  at  ten  o'clock; — that  is  all. 
And  where  then  is  there  cause  for  alarm?  If  you  have  a  good 
conscience,  go  to  him  without  fear,  though  his  castle  be  hell  itself." 

No  wonder  that  the  peremptory  order,  coming  from  so  exalted  a 
personage,  terrified  the  humble  miller's  family.  The  mareschale 
seldom  showed  himself  to  the  people,  and  then  only  when  attended 
by  a  numerous  suite  of  high  officers,  noblemen,  and  guards.  The 
external  pomp  of  the  great,  exercises  greater  awe  on  the  minds  of  the 
uneducated  multitude  than  their  power. 

Next  morning,  my  aunt  arranged  my  wardrobe  with  trembling 
hands,  and  I  endeavoured  to  comfort  my  dear  afflicted  relatives. 
"It  is  ten  o'clock,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  go  in  God's  name,  we  will 
pray  for  you." 

I  went,  and  learned  that  the  mareschale  was  still  in  his  cabinet. 
After  an  hour  and  a  half  I  was  conducted  through  a  suite  of  rooms 
to  him.  An  elderly  gentleman,  rather  thin,  and  of  a  stiff  com- 
manding manner,  of  dark  complexion  and  piercing  eyes,  stepped  to- 
wards me,  while  the  respect  of  those  around  marked  him  as  the 
mareschale. 

"  I  wished  to  see  you,  Alamontade,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  been 
distinguished  by  so  much  praise  on  the  university  list  of  Montpcllier. 

2  C 


376  ALAMONTADE. 

Cultivate  your  talents,  and  you  may  become  a  useful  man.  You 
shall  have  my  patronage  for  the  future.  Let  not  my  encourage- 
ment make  you  proud,  but  more  industrious,  and  I  shall  not  fail  to 
learn  how  you  proceed.  Do  all  in  your  power  to  retain  the  friend- 
ship of  M.  Bertollon,  your  patron,  and  tell  him  that  I  sent  for  you." 

This  was  all  the  mareschale  said.  He  evinced  satisfaction  with 
me  during  this  short  interview.  I  commended  myself  to  his  fa- 
vour and  hastened  to  comfort  my  family,  who  were  most  anxious 
about  me. 

Their  joy  at  my  return  was  great,  and  soon  all  our  neighbours, 
indeed  the  whole  town  had  heard  the  great  honour  I  had  received 
from  the  mareschale.  "  Did  I  not  say  before  that  it  is  God  who 
governs  the  hearts  of  the  powerful?"  exclaimed  my  uncle;  "The 
sun  rises  out  of  darkness,  and  the  holy  cross  rears  itself  to  heaven 
over  the  bruised  serpent  and  painful  thorns." 

On  arriving  at  Montpellier,  I  found  M.  Bertollon  had  gone  to 
his  wife  in  the  country.  With  melancholy  feelings  I  stood  in  my 
garret  before  the  withered  wreath,  and  sighed  forth  the  name  of 
Clementine,  while  I  kissed  the  faded  leaves  which  had  once  bloomed 
in  her  delicate  hand.  I  felt  half  ashamed  of  the  tears  with  which 
disappointed  hope  suffused  my  eyes,  and  yet  I  felt  happy. 

The  wreath  and  the  small  part  of  the  magnificent  house,  De  Sonnes, 
were  to  become  again,  during  winter,  the  mute  witnesses  of  my 
love,  joys,  and  hopes.  Spring  and  its  blossoms  (I  said  as  I  looked 
towards  the  palace)  will  bring  her,  perhaps,  to  MontpeUier. 

At  this  moment  I  saw,  at  the  opposite  window,  a  female  form 
attired  in  deep  mourning,  and  with  her  back  turned  towards  me. 
My  pulse  ceased  to  beat,  my  breath  stopped,  and  my  eyes  became 
dim.  "  It  can  only  be  Clementine,"  said  a  voice  within  me  ;  but  I 
had  sunk  down  senseless  on  the  window,  having  neither  the  cou- 
rage nor  the  power  to  look  up  and  convince  myself. 

When  I  had  recovered,  I  raised  myself,  and  cast  a  trembling  look 
towards  her.  Her  face  was  turned  towards  me,  covered  with  a  black 
veil,  with  which  the  breezes  sported ;  it  was  raised — I  saw  Clemen- 
tine, and  that  at  a  moment  when  I  had  engaged  her  attention.  I 
cast  down  my  eyes,  and  felt  a  burning  glow  through  my  veins. 
When  I  again  raised  them,  she  was  gone  from  the  window,  but  not 
from  my  mind.  "  It  is  she,"  said  a  voice  within  me,  and  I  stood  on  the 
pinnacle  of  earthly  bliss,  solitary,  but  having  before  me  Clementine's 
image,  and  inspiring  anticipations  for  the  future.  A  golden  gleam 
was  poured  over  the  smoky  walls,  and  a  sea  of  flowers  waved  over 
the  naked  roofs  ;  the  world  dissolved  before  me  like  a  splendid 
cloud,  Clementine's  form  passed  through  a  lovely  eternity,  while  I 
was  beside  her,  and  my  lot  was  endless  rapture.  "  Oh,  of  what  bliss 
is  the  human  heart  susceptible  !"  I  exclaimed,  falling  on  my  knees, 
and  raising  my  hands  to  heaven.  "Oh  God!  for  what  scenes  hast 
thou  spared  me  !  Oh !  perpetuate  this  feeling  !" 

Late  that  evening,  I  saw  the  windows  lighted,  and  her  shadow 


ALAMONTADE.  377 

passing  to  and  fro ;  I  took  my  harp,  and  with,  its  sounds,  my  feelings 
gradually  became  calm. 

I  did  not  awake  till  late  the  next  morning,  having  passed  a  sleep- 
less night.  When  I  stepped  to  the  window  I  saw  Clementine  lean- 
ing from  hers  in  her  morning  dress.  I  saluted  her,  and  received 
a  scarcely  perceptible  return ;  but  she  looked  kindly.  I  was  riveted 
to  the  spot  while  she  remained,  our  glances  met  timidly;  but  my 
soul  conversed  with  her,  and  I  seemed  to  receive  soft  answers. 

Oh  !  blessed  hours  which  I  dreamed  away  harmlessly  in  the  secret 
contemplation  of  a  lovely  being.  With  my  poor  and  humble  pa- 
rentage, and  without  claim,  as  I  was,  to  personal  attractions,  how 
could  I  raise  my  hopes  to  the  most  lovely,  richest  heiress  of  Mont- 
pellier,  whose  favour  was  courted  by  the  noblest  youths  of  the 
country  ? 

How  much  do  my  thoughts  love  to  dwell  on  the  recollection  of  those 
days !  Friendship  and  love  belong  only  to  mortal  man ;  he  shares 
them  neither  with  angels  nor  the  animal  creation  ;  they  are  the  off- 
spring of  the  union  of  the  earthly  and  divine  nature  within  us ;  they 
constitute  the  privilege  of  man.  In  their  possession  we  are  more 
pious,  more  believing,  more  indulgent,  and  more  at  home  in  the 
universe ;  we  have  more  confidence,  and  endure  the  thorns  by  the 
way.  Nay,  even  the  wilderness  appears  more  splendid  in  the  glow  of 
a  calm,  bright  fancy. 

In  the  evening  I  again  took  the  harp,  struck  the  chords,  and 
played  the  sufferings  of  Count  Peter  of  Proven 96  and  his  beloved 
Magellone,  then  one  of  the  newest  and  most  affecting  ballads,  and 
full  of  expressive  melody.  When  I  had  finished  the  first  stanza,  and 
rested  a  minute,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  harp,  softly  repeating  the 
same  air  in  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Who  could  it  be  but  Clemen- 
tine, who  wished  to  become  the  echo  of  my  sentiments?  When  she 
had  finished  I  began  again ;  thus  we  responded  to  each  other.  Music 
is  the  language  of  the  soul.  What  an  ineffable  delight  to  my  heart, 
Clementine  thought  me  worthy  of  this  converse ! 

Alas !  I  must  pass  over  in  silence  a  thousand  nameless  trifles 
which  receive  their  inestimable  value  only  from  the  sense  by  which 
they  are  given  and  received;  but  they  cannot  be  forgotten.  The 
corse  of  the  dream  of  my  happy  youth,  I  mean  recollection,  is  also 
still  delightful,  though  its  life  has  passed  away. 

My  dream  lasted  thus  for  two  years.  During  that  time  we  saw  each 
other  in  silence,  but  still  loving,  and  we  conversed  only  by  means  of 
the  chords  of  the  harp,  without  ever  approaching  nearer.  I  knew  the 
church  where  she  prayed;  I  also  went  and  prayed  too.  I  knew  the 
days  when  she,  in  the  company  of  her  mother  and  friends,  prome- 
naded amid  the  shady  trees  of  the  Peyrou  ;*  there  I  went  also.  Her 
look  showed  that  she  recognised  me,  and  timidly  rewarded  me. 

Without  having  spoken  to  each  other  during  this  long  space  of 

*  One  of  the  most  lovely  walks  near  Montpellier. 
2  C2 


378  ALAMONTADE. 

time,  we  had  by  degrees  become  the  most  intimate  confidants;  w< 
reciprocated  our  joys  and  sorrows;  we  entreated  and  granted,  hopec 
and  feared,  and  made  vows  that  were  never  broken. 

No  one  suspected  the  intercourse  of  our  souls,  our  sweet  and  inno 
cent  familiarity.  Only  M.  Bertollon's  kindness  threatened  mor< 
than  once  to  rob  me  of  my  joys,  as  he  insisted  on  my  occupying  i 
better  room,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  I  retained  possession  of  mj 
garret. 

When  Madame  Bertollon  had  returned  from  her  country  house 
her  husband  introduced  me  to  her.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  is  Alamon 
tade,  a  young  man  whom  I  love  as  a  friend,  and  to  whom  I  wisl 
nothing  better  than  that  he  may  become  yours  also." 

What  I  had  heard  of  her  was  not  exaggerated.  She  seemec 
scarcely  twenty  years  old,  was  very  beautiful,  and  might  have  servec 
an  artist  as  an  idea  for  a  Madonna.  A  pleasing  timidity  renderec 
her  the  more  attractive,  especially  as  most  of  her  sex  and  rank  ir 
Montpellier  knew  less  of  that  reserve,  without  which  grace  itsel: 
loses  all  its  charms. 

She  spoke  little,  but  well;  she  appeared  cold,  but  the  vivacity 
and  brightness  of  her  eye  betrayed  a  sensitive  heart  and  active  mind 
She  was  the  benefactress  of  the  poor,  and  honoured  by  the  whole 
city.  Neglected  by  her  husband,  and  adored  by  young  and  at- 
tractive men  of  the  first  families,  she  allowed  not  calumny  itself  tc 
throw  a  shade  over  the  purity  of  her  character.  She  lived  as  retired 
as  in  a  convent.  I  saw  her  but  seldom,  and  only  during  my  last 
year  at  the  university,  when  the  illness  of  her  husband  afforded  me 
an  opportunity  of  meeting  in  his  apartment. 

The  tenderest  anxiety  for  the  health  of  M.  Bertollon  was  visible  in 
all  her  features.  She  was  incessantly  with  him,  administering  his 
medicine,  or  reading  to  him ;  and,  when  the  illness  reached  its  crisis, 
she  never  quitted  his  bedside,  but  even  destroyed  her  own  health  by 
her  continual  nightly  watching. 

When  M.  Bertollon  recovered,  he  continued  his  cold  and  polite 
behaviour  towards  her,  and  never  returned  her  affection.  This  in- 
difference she  seemed  to  feel  deeply,  and  by  degrees  became  estranged 
from  him  as  his  health  returned.  I  could  only  pity  her,  and  re- 
proach my  friend. 

"  But  what  do  you  demand  of  me,  Colas?'  he  said  one  day. 
"  Are  you  master  of  your  own  heart,  that  you  can  ask  obedience 
from  mine?  I  grant  you  my  wife  is  beautiful;  but  mere  beauty  is 
only  a  pleasing  gloss,  under  which  the  heart  remains  cold.  Why  do 
we  not  fall  in  love  with  the  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  the  sculptor?  I  grant 
you  she  has  understanding;  this,  however,  we  do  not  love,  but  at 
most  admire.  She  is  charitable;  but  she  has  money  enough,  and 
takes  no  pleasure  in  expensive  amusements.  She  showed  me  much 
attention  during  my  illness;  for  that  I  am  grateful  to  her.  She 
shall  not  want  any  thing  that  she  wishes,  and  I  can  give;  but  the 
heart  cannot  be  given,  that  must  be  taken.  As  to  the  rest,  my 


ALAMONTADE.  379 

friend,  you  do  not  know  her.  She  also  hasher  failings;  nay,  if  you 
will  allow  so  much,  her  faults.  If  it  should  unfortunately  happen, 
now,  that  some  of  these  faults  are  of  such  a  nature  as  necessarily  to 
extinguish  every  rising  feeling  of  affection  in  me,  am  I  to  blame, 
that  I  cannot  change  stone  into  gold,  and  transform  a  marriage  of 
convenience  into  one  of  the  heart?" 

"  But,  dear  Bertollon,  I  never  even  discovered  the  slighest  trace 
of  such  a  repulsive  fault." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  my  wife.  To  you,  as  my 
friend,  I  may  reveal  what  has  estranged  me  from  her  for  ever,  even 
during  the  very  first  days  of  our  marriage.  It  is  her  un  tain  cable 
and  unreasonable  temper,  which  is  as  an  all-consuming  fire.  Trust 
not  the  ice  and  snow  of  the  external  veil ;  a  volcano  is  burning 
within  it  which,  from  time  to  time,  must  emit  its  flames,  or  it 
would  burst  its  outward  covering.  She  is  quiet,  but  the  more  dan- 
gerous ;  every  feeling  is  fermenting  long  within  her  before  it  mani- 
fests itself;  but  when  it  has  done  so,  it  is  the  more  lasting  and 
destructive.  She  seems  to  be  virtue  and  gentleness  personified; 
without  her  unhappy  temper  she  might  be  a  saint,  but  that  destroys 
all  better  feelings.  I  have  often  surprised  her  in  designs  so  atro- 
cious and  terrible,  that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  one  of  them 
could  find  its  way  into  the  soul  of  a  woman,  or  how  she  could  harbour 
it.  Such  a  character,  my  friend,  is  not  likely  to  conquer  one's  heart." 

These  confidential  communications  startled  me  the  more,  as  I  had 
proofs  of  Bertollon's  knowledge  of  men,  and  his  correct  judgments. 
In  the  meanwhile,  I  did  not  discontinue  my  visits  to  Madame  Ber- 
tollon, and  thought  I  perceived  that  she  found  pleasure  in  my 
society.  She  was  always  tranquil,  gentle,  and  seemed  suffering.  So 
much  beauty  and  gentleness  changed  my  respect  into  sincere  friend- 
ship. I  formed  the  resolution  of  reconciling  her  to  her  husband, 
let  it  cost  what  it  would;  or,  rather,  of  bringing  him  back  to  her 
arms. 

The  habit  of  daily  intercourse  removed,  by  degrees,  the  constraint 
of  etiquette,  and  made  her  society  absolutely  necessary  to  me.  Once 
when  I  was  walking  with  her  in  the  garden,  and  she  leaned  on  my 
arm,  she  said:  "You  are  Bertollon's  most  intimate  friend  and  con- 
fidant. I  consider  you  mine  also,  and  your  character  gives  me  a 
claim  on  your  kindness.  Speak  openly,  Alamontade,  for  you  know 
the  reason — why  does  Bertollon  hate  me?" 

"  He  does  not  hate  you,  madame,  he  entertains  the  highest 
esteem  for  you.  Hate  ?  he  must  be  a  monster  if  he  can  do  that. 
No !  he  is  a  noble  man,  he  cannot  hate  any  body." 

"  You  are  right:  he  can  hate  no  one,  because  he  loves  no  one. 
He  does  not  consider  himself  born  for  the  world,  nor  for  any  one; 
but  that  the  whole  world,  and  every  one  in  it,  is  made  for  him. 
Education,  perhaps,  never  poisoned  a  more  feeling  heart  and  a 
sounder  head  than  his." 


380  ALAMONTADE. 

"  You  judge,  perhaps,  too  harshly,  madame." 
"  Would  to  Heaven  I  did !     Pray  convince  me  of  the  contrary." 
"I  convince  you?     Not  so,  madame;  observe  your  husband,  and 
you  will  change  your  mind." 

"Observe  him?  I  always  did  so,  and  always  found  him  the 
same." 

"  He  is  a  kind,  amiable  man,  at  least." 

"  Amiable !  he  is  so,  he  knows  it,  and  takes  pains  to  be  so;  but, 
unfortunately,  not  to  make  others  happy — onty  himself.  For  this  I 
cannot  call  him  good,  although  I  cannot  call  him  bad/' 

"Surely,  madame,  I  do  not  understand  you;  permit  me,  how- 
ever, to  return  confidence  for  confidence.  I  never  knew  two  human 
beings  who  so  much  deserved  to  be  happy,  and  were  so  calculated 
to  render  each  other  so,  as  you  and  your  husband,  and  yet  you  are 
estranged  from  each  other.  I  shall  certainly  believe  I  have  lived 
long  enough,  and  have  accomplished  enough,  if  I  can  unite  you 
more  affectionately  to  each  other,  and  attach  your  now  divided 
hearts." 

"  You  are  very  kind;  but  though  half  your  wish  is  already  ac- 
complished— for  my  heart,  has  long  been  pursuing  his,  which  flies 
from  me — I  fear  that  you  attempt  an  impossibility.  However,  if  any 
one  could  succeed  in  this,  you  are  that  one.  You,  Alamontade,  are  the 
first  to  whom  Bertollon  has  quite  attached  himself, — to  whom  he 
firmly  clings.  Try  it;  change  the  disposition  of  the  man." 

"  You  are  joking;  I  change  him?  What  other  virtue  do  you 
wish  Bertollon  to  practise?  He  is  generous,  modest,  the  protector 
of  innocence,  of  an  unvarying  temper,  without  predominant  pas- 
sions, disinterested,  kind." 

"  You  are  right,  he  is  all  that." 
"  And  how  shall  I  change  him?" 
"  Make  him  a  better  man." 

"  A  better  man?"  replied  I,  astonished,  stopping  and  looking 
with  embarrassment  into  the  eyes  of  this  beautiful  woman,  which 
were  filled  with  tears.     "  Is  he,  then,  bad?  Is  he  vicious?" 
"  That  he  is  not,"  she  said;  "  but  he  is  not  good." 
"  And  yet,  madame,  you  allow  that  he  possesses  all  the  noble 
qualities  for  which  I  just  now  praised  him?     Do  you  not,  perhaps, 
demand  too  much  from  a  mortal?" 

"  I  do  not  deny  that  he  possesses  what  you  have  praised  in  him, 
Alamontade;  but  he  does  not  use  those  qualities  as  virtues,  only  as 
instruments.  He  does  much  good,  not  because  it  is  good,  but  be- 
cause it  is  advantageous  to  him.  He  is  not  virtuous,  but  prudent. 
In  every  action  he  only  looks  at  the  useful  and  injurious,  never 
at  the  good  and  evil.  He  would  as  soon  employ  hell  for  accom- 
plishing his  designs  as  heaven.  His  happiness  consists  in  the  attain- 
ment of  his  desires,  and  for  this  he  is  and  does  what  suits  his  pur- 
pose under  any  given  circumstances.  The  world  is  to  him  the  field 


ALAMONTADE.  381 

of  desire,  wherein  all  belongs  to  the  most  fortunate  and  cunning. 
The  throne  of  men  living  together  created,  in  his  opinion,  states  and 
laws,  religions  and  usages.  The  wisest  man  in  his  eyes  is  he  who 
knows  the  entangled  tissue  of  circumstances  to  its  finest  threads; 
and  he  who  knows  that  can  do  any  thing.  Nothing  is  in  itself  right 
or  wrong;  opinion  alone  sanctions  and  condemns.  This,  Alamon- 
tade,  is  a  picture  of  my  husband.  He  cannot  love  me,  for  he  only 
loves  himself.  His  mind  and  taste  change,  and  with  them  his  na- 
ture. With  iron  perseverance  he  pursues  and  attains  his  ends.  The 
son  of  a  much  respected  family,  which  had  been  reduced  in  circum- 
stances, he  wished  to  be  rich,  so  he  became  a  merchant,  went  to  dis- 
tant lands  and  returned  the  possessor  of  a  million.  He  then  wished 
to  secure  his  wealth  by  uniting  himself  with  one  of  the  most  respect- 
able families  of  this  city,  and  I  became  his  wife.  Desirous  to  possess 
influence  in  public  affairs,  without  exciting  envy,  he  made  himself 
popular,  and  refused  the  most  honourable  posts  of  office.  In  his  opi- 
nion nothing  is  unattainable;  he  considers  nothing  sacred;  he  con- 
quers every  obstacle;  no  one  is  too  strong  for  him,  because  all  are 
weak  by  some  propensity,  passion,  and  opinion." 

This  picture  of  Bertollon's  character  staggered  me.  I  found  it 
corresponding  to  the  original  in  every  particular.  I  had  never  formed 
a  clear  idea  of  all  this,  although  I  had  felt  it.  I  discovered  the  enor- 
mous chasm  that  separated  their  hearts,  and  despaired  of  ever  being 
able  to  fill  it  up. 

"  But,  madame,"  said  I,  pressing  her  hand  with  emotion,  "  do  not 
despair ;  your  persevering  affection  and  virtue  will  finally  triumph 
over  him." 

"  Virtue !  Oh,  my  dear  Alamontade,  what  can  be  expected  from  a 
man  who  calls  it  a  weakness,  or  one-sidedness  of  character,  or  prudery 
of  mind  ?  From  one  who  considers  religion  only  as  the  toy  of  church 
and  education, — the  toy  with  which  the  fancy  of  the  shortsighted 
plays  with  childish  zeal?" 

"  But  still  he  possesses  a  heart." 

"  He  has  a  heart,  but  only  for  himself — not  for  others.  He  wishes 
to  be  loved  without  any  sacrifice  of  feeling  on  his  part.  Alas !  can 
one  love  such  a  man?  No,  Alamontade,  love  demands  something 
more;  it  gives  itself  up  to  the  beloved  object,  exists  in  it,  and  is  not 
master  of  itself;  it  does  not  calculate,  it  knows  no  care;  it  takes  its 
chance  whether  fidelity  will  at  length  bless  it  or  treachery  destroy  it. 
But  it  cannot  exist  without  hope;  it  demands  the  heart  of  its  object, 
and  in  that  finds  its  heaven." 

"  And  in  that  it  finds  its  heaven,"  sighed  I,  as  I  again  stood  in 
my  own  chamber  and  thought  of  Clementine. 

I  took  down  the  withered  wreath,  which  had  been  hitherto  a 
sacred  pledge  of  Clementine's  favour,  and  hung  it  upon  my  harp. 
Had  she  not  herself  thrown  it  on  the  breast  which  incloses  my  loving 
heart  ?  Did  she  not  then  appear  as  if  she  wished  to  crown  that  heart 


382  ALAMONTADE. 

with  her  own  hand?  Could  it  only  have  been  childish  play?  Ah! 
could  it  have  been  indifferent  to  her  whether  it  was  a  crown  of 
thorns  or  a  wreath  of  blossoms  which  she  was  winding  round  my 
heart? 

She  was  at  the  window.  I  raised  the  wreath  and  pressed  it  to 
my  lips.  She  seemed  to  perceive  it;  she  suppressed  a  smile,  bent 
forward  and  looked  into  the  street,  but  not  again  at  me.  This  re- 
sponse plunged  me  into  inexpressible  trouble.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
was  ashamed  of  the  gift  she  once  had  bestowed  on  me.  I  now  sud- 
denly became  conscious  of  what  I  expected  and  hoped  from  her.  I 
wished  an  impossibility.  I  had  never  thought  of  Clementine  as  my 
wife ;  I  loved  her  and  wished  to  be  loved  by  her.  But  she  my  wife  ? 
I,  the  poor  son  of  a  farmer  who  died  encumbered  with  debt.  I  who 
still  had  to  battle  with  want,  and  only  saw  an  uncertain  fate  in  the 
future — I  expect  the  richest  heiress  in  Montpellier ! 

At  this  thought  my  proud  spirit  sank.  I  loved  Clementine  and 
forgave  her  if  she  could  not  return  my  love.  I  saw  clearly  that  I 
could  not  change  the  relations  of  social  life;  and,  in  fact,  was  too 
proud  to  make  my  fortune  by  marriage. 

Henceforth  I  applied  more  ardently  to  my  studies,  wishing  to 
pave  my  way  to  Clementine's  elevation  by  my  own  energies.  Many 
nights  1  passed  sleepless  in  study.  Desirous  of  hearing  the  unbiassed 
judgment  of  critics  respecting  my  talents,  I  published,  anonymously, 
a  work  on  the  jurisprudence  of  the  ancients,  and  a  collection  of 
poems,  the  greater  part  of  which  were  inspired  by  my  secret  passion. 

This  publication  of  my  labours  had  an  unexpected  success.  Cu- 
riosity soon  discovered  the  name  of  the  author,  who  was  everywhere 
courted.  The  loud  applause  raised  my  self-esteem,  and  the  success 
of  my  first  attempt  rekindled  the  extinguished  flame  of  hope  by  the 
light  of  which  I  saw  Clementine  as  my  own,  though  at  a  distance 
which  rendered  her  indistinct. 

She  herself  rewarded  me  in  the  most  pleasing  manner,  by  once 
reading  my  poems  at  the  window,  when  their  author  had  become 
known.  Indeed,  from  a  hundred  allusions  in  the  poems  which  she 
only  understood,  she  might  have  guessed  their  author.  She  looked 
across  to  me,  smiled,  and  pressed  the  book  to  her  bosom,  as  if  she 
wished  to  tell  me,  "  I  love  it,  and  what  you  express  in  it  you  have 
addressed  to  this  heart,  which  feels  and  is  grateful." 

I  again  took  up  the  withered  wreath,  at  which  I  had  often  sung; 
smiled,  made  a  sigh,  and  retired. 

But  no  one  was  more  delighted  by  the  applause  I  had  gained  than 
my  friend  Bertollon.  He  became  more  affectionate  and  confidential. 
We  regarded  each  other  as  brothers ;  he  was  devoted  to  me,  and 
proved,  in  a  thousand  ways,  that  he  had  a  heart  for  others.  He  did 
not  let  a  day  pass  without  showing  some  kindness ;  it  was  only  by 
chance  that  I  learned  many  of  his  noble  deeds. 

"  Oh !  Bertollon,"  I  once  exclaimed,  as  I  pressed  him  to  my  heart, 


ALAMONTADE.  383 

"  what   a  man   you   are !     Why  must  I  pity  as  much  as  admire 
you?" 

"  You  go  too  far  in  both  points,  for  I  deserve  neither  one  nor  the 
other,"  replied  he,  with  a  complacent  smile. 

"  No  !  Bertollon,  what  I  lament  is,  that  you  are  good  and  virtuous, 
without  wishing  to  appear  so ;  you  call  virtue  fanaticism  and  narrow- 
ness of  ideas,  and  yet  you  constantly  practise  its  precepts." 

"  Well,  then,  Alamontade,  rest  satisfied  with  that.  Why  do  you 
for  ever  weary  yourself  with  my  conversion?  When  you  are  older 
I  shall  see  you  treading  in  my  footsteps;  be,  at  least,  tolerant  for  the 
present ;  the  same  child  has,  perhaps,  a  twofold  name." 

"I  doubt  it.  Could  you,  Bertollon,  voluntarily  plunge  yourself 
into  misery  in  order  to  support  a  righteous  cause?" 

"  What  do  you  call  a  righteous  cause?    Your  ideas  are  not  clear." 

"  If  you  could  save  Montpellier  from  destruction  by  sacrificing 
yourself,  would  you  be  capable  of  suffering  poverty  or  death?" 

"  M.  Colas,  you  rave  again.  Only  fanatics  can  demand  and  make 
such  sacrifices,  and  it  is  good  for  the  world  that  there  are  such.  But 
now  come  for  once  to  your  senses;  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  always 
indulging  such  whims,  for  in  this  way  you  will  never  be  happy. 
Run  over  the  whole  world  and  collect  the  fools  who  would  meet 
death  for  your  notions:  you  will  not  find  one  in  a  hundred  million. 
Every  thing  is  true,  good,  useful,  just,  and  noble,  only  under  certain 
circumstances.  The  ideas  of  men  vary  everywhere  ;  many  have 
fancied  that  they  could  save  the  world  by  their  death.  They  died, 
but  for  their  own  caprice,  not  for  the  world,  and  were  afterwards 
laughed  at  as  fools." 

"  For  these  words  I  could  despise  you,  Bertollon." 

"  Then  you  would  not  be  over  virtuous,  according  to  your  own 
notions." 

"  If  you  could  increase  your  wealth  by  plunging  me  into  misery, 
would  you  do  so !" 

"  For  such  a  question  I  ought  to  despise  you,  Colas?" 

"  And  yet  I  may  put  it,  for  you  say  that  you  only  strive  after 
that  which  is  useful  to  yourself.  You  weigh  the  goodness  of  an 
action  only  by  the  result." 

"  Dear  Colas,  I  see  you  will  be  a  bad  advocate,  and  will  make  a 
poor  fortune,  if  you  only  defend  causes  which  are  right  according 
to  your  notions,  and  never  an  unjust  one  by  which  you  might  gain." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Bertollon,  I  should  abhor  myself  as  long  as  I 
lived,  if  ever  I  moved  my  lips  for  the  accusation  of  innocence,  and 
the  defence  of  crime." 

"  And  yet  you,  good-hearted  simpleton,  you  will  do  it  more  than 
once,  because  you  will  not  always  find  guilt  or  innocence  written  on 
men's  foreheads.  You  will  be  the  world's  fool,  if  you  will  not  walk 
its  way." 

In  this  manner  we  often  disputed.    I  was  sometimes  puzzled  with 


384  ALAMONTADE. 

him,  and  could  have  feared  him,  had  he  not  always  expressed  his 
terrible  opinions  so  jocosely,  that  he  did  not  seem  to  believe  them 
himself.  He  only  wished  to  irritate  me,  and  when  he  had  succeeded, 
laughed  heartily.  But  his  actions  contradicted  his  words. 

Madame  Bertollon,  on  the  contrary,  daily  displayed  more  of  the 
noble  sentiments  that  animated  her.  She  glowed  for  the  virtuous 
actions  which  she  practised  with  religious  ardour. 

I  became  her  guest,  and  we  were  never  in  want  of  conversation. 
Alone  with  her  I  spent  the  long  winter  evenings,  and  from  me  she 
learned  the  harp.  Soon  I  could  accompany  her  charming  voice, 
while  she  sang  my  songs  with  deep  feeling.  She  was  lovely,  and 
her  beauty  would  have  been  dangerous  to  me,  had  not  my  heart  been 
fixed  on  Clementine. 

When  I  spoke  of  her  with  enthusiasm  to  Bertollon,  he  smiled ;  if 
I  reproached  him  for  leaving  such  a  lovely  creature  to  herself,  he  re- 
plied, "  Our  tastes  differ;  let  every  one  follow  his  own  inclination. 
Would  you,  dear  despot,  have  all  heads  and  hearts  moulded  in  the 
same  form?  I  know  my  wife  loses  nothing  by  me,  consequently 
she  is  not  made  unhappy^  by  my  treating  her  in  the  manner  so  cus- 
tomary in  fashionable  society.  She  knew  this  beforehand.  If  you 
are  happy  in  her  society  I  am  glad;  and  I  rejoice  if  she  also  finds 
pleasure  in  your  conversation.  You  see,  virtuous  Colas,  that  I,  also, 
am  capable  of  great  sacrifices,  for  I  leave  you  to  her  often  when  I 
most  sincerely  desire  your  company." 

I  had  finished  my  studies,  had  taken  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws, 
and  had  obtained  permission  to  practise  as  attorney  before  the  tribu- 
nals of  the  kingdom.  My  increased  occupations  during  this  time 
prevented  me  from  visiting  Madame  Bertollon  as  frequently  as 
before;  but  she  received  me  the  more  joy  fully  when  we  met;  and  I 
felt  now,  more  than  ever,  how  sincerely  I  was  attached  to  her.  We 
never  confessed  how  indispensable  we  were  to  each  other;  but  each  of 
us  betrayed  it  in  every  feature,  and  by  the  cordiality  of  demeanour. 

At  times  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  were  more  melancholy  than 
she  had  been,  and  then,  again,  more  affable  and  complaisant;  at 
other  times  she  appeared  to  treat  me  with  marked  coldness  and  re- 
serve ;  and  then,  again,  as  if  she  wished,  with  sisterly  affection,  to 
quiet  my  anxiety.  This  change  of  behaviour  surprised  me,  and  I 
vainly  endeavoured  to  discover  the  reason  of  it.  I  could  not  help 
perceiving  that  she  no  longer  possessed  her  former  serenity  and  equa- 
nimity. I  often  found  her  with  eyes  that  evinced  recent  weeping. 
She  sometimes  spoke  with  singular  enthusiasm  of  the  retirement  of 
a  convent,  and  withdrew  more  and  more  from  her  usual  society.  A 
hidden  melancholy  gnawed  the  bud  of  her  youth. 

These  reflections  make  me  also  melancholy,  and  I  in  vain  endea- 
voured to  cheer  her.  The  calm  sadness  of  her  look,  the  vanishing 
bloom  of  her  cheek,  her  deep  silence,  and  her  efforts  to  conceal,  by 
an  affected  cheerfulness,  the  grief  which  was  gnawing  her  heart, 


ALAMONTADE.  385 

added  to  my  friendship  the  genial  warmth  and  tenderness  of  sym- 
pathy. How  gladly  would  I  have  sacrificed  my  life  to  procure  hap- 
piness for  her ! 

One  evening  when  I  accompanied  her  singing  on  my  harp,  a  sud- 
den burst  of  tears  choked  her  voice.  Alarmed,  I  ceased  playing. 
She  rose,  and  was  on  the  point  of  hurrying  to  her  apartment  to  con- 
ceal her  grief. 

How  touching,  in  moments  of  quiet  suffering,  are  youth,  beauty, 
and  innocence.  I  seized  her  hand,  and  held  her  back. 

"  No !"  she  exclaimed,  "  let  me  go." 

"  Stay,  I  cannot  possibly  let  you  go  in  this  excited  state.  May  I 
not  witness  your  grief  ?  Am  I  not  your  friend  ?  Do  you  not  your- 
self call  me  so?  And  does  not  this  pleasing  name  give  me  a  right 
to  ask  you  the  cause  of  that  affliction  which  you  in  vain  endeavour 
to  conceal  from  me?" 

"  Leave  me,  I  conjure  you,  leave  me,"  she  cried,  as  she  endea- 
voured, with  feeble  efforts,  to  free  herself. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  you  are  unhappy." 

"  Unhappy,  alas !"  she  sighed,  with  unrestrained  grief,  drooping 
her  beautiful  face  on  my  bosom  to  conceal  her  tears. 

Involuntarily  I  clasped  my  arms  around  the  gentle  sufferer.  A 
deep  sympathy  seized  me.  I  stammered  forth  some  words  of  consola- 
tion, and  begged  her  to  be  calm. 

"  Alas !  I  am  unhappy,"  she  exclaimed,  sobbing,  and  with  vehe- 
mence. I  dared  not  endeavour  further  to  appease  the  storm  of  feel- 
ing by  my  untimely  persuasions ;  and,  letting  her  weep  without  in- 
terruption, I  led  her  back  to  her  seat,  as  I  felt  that  she  became  ex- 
hausted and  trembling,  her  head  resting  still  on  my  bosom. 

"  You  are  not  well?"  I  asked  timidly. 

"I  feel  better  now,"  she  replied;  and,  becoming  more  tranquil, 
she  looked  up,  and  seeing  tears  in  my  eyes,  asked,  "  Why  do  you 
weep,  Alamontade?" 

"  Can  I  remain  unmoved  by  your  sorrows?"  I  answered,  bend- 
ing down  to  her.  Silently  we  sat  absorbed  in  our  feelings,  hand  in 
hand,  gazing  at  each  other.  A  tear  rolled  down  her  cheek,  which  I 
kissed  away,  and  drew  the  sufferer  closely  to  my  heart,  unconscious  of 
what  I  was  doing.  During  this  embrace  our  fears  evaporated  with 
the  glow  of  our  cheeks;  and  what  we  called  friendship,  was  changed 
into  love. 

We  parted ;  ten  times  we  bade  each  other  farewell,  and  as  often  I 
clasped  her  in  my  arms,  forgetting  the  separation. 

Reeling  as  if  intoxicated,  I  entered  my  room;  the  harp,  wreath, 
and  window,  terrified  me. 

I  had  never  been  in  a  greater  state  of  confusion  than  I  was  on  the 
following  morning.  I  could  not  understand  myself,  and  wavered 
between  contradictions.  Madame  Bertollon  appeared  to  love  me; 
but  hitherto  she  had  heroically  struggled  with  feelings  which  seemed 


386  ALAMONTADE. 

to  wound  the  nobility  of  her  mind.  I  was  the  wretch  who,  with- 
out loving  her,  could  encourage  her  passion,  and  fan  the  fatal  flame 
by  which  she  must  be  consumed,  and  I  must  be  dishonoured  still 
more  than  the  unhappy  woman  herself. 

In  vain  I  called  to  mind  the  sacredness  of  my  duties ;  in  vain  I 
disclosed  to  myself  the  base  ingratitude  I  committed  against  Bertol- 
lon's  generous  friendship ;  in  vain  I  remembered  my  own  and  Cle- 
mentine's vows ;  all  that  once  had  been  to  her  pleasing  and  estimable 
had  lost  its  power  and  influence.  The  tumult  of  my  senses  con- 
tinued without  intermission :  only  Bertollon's  lovely  wife  floated  in 
my  imagination ;  I  still  felt  on  my  lip  the  glow  of  her  kiss,  and  my 
flattered  vanity  overwhelmed  the  earnest  warnings  of  my  conscience 
with  illusive  sophistry. 

"  Wretch !  you  will  feel  remorse,  you  will  some  day  blush  at  your 
own  disgraceful  act,  and  the  snow  of  advanced  age  will  not  quench 
the  burning  of  an  evil  conscience !" 

With  these  words  I  endeavoured  to  arouse  my  better  feelings. 
While  I  still  revelled  in  the  remembrance  of  the  previous  evening, 
and  dark  forebodings  were  rising  in  my  mind,  I  sat  down  at  the 
table  to  write  to  Madame  Bertollon,  to  describe  to  her  the  danger 
to  which  we  should  both  expose  ourselves  by  further  intercourse,  and 
to  tell  her  that  to  continue  worthy  of  her  friendship  I  must  leave  her 
and  Montpellier. 

But  while  reason  dictated  her  precepts,  and  I  wished  to  make  the 
first  heavy  sacrifice  to  virtue,  I  wrote  to  Madame  Bertollon  the  most 
solemn  oaths  of  my  attachment,  declaring  falsely  that  a  secret  passion 
for  her  had  long  consumed  me,  and  that  I  saw  my  happiness  only  in 
her  love.  I  entreated  and  conjured  her  not  to  let  me  despair,  and 
unrolled  to  her  imagination  a  vivid  picture  of  our  bliss. 

I  started  up,  read  the  letter  over  and  over,  tore  it,  and  wrote 
another,  repeating  only  what  I  had  written,  and  then  again  destroyed 
it.  As  if  by  an  unknown  power  I  was  drawn  against  my  will  to  a 
crime  at  which  my  soul  vainly  shuddered.  While  vowing  to  myself, 
in  a  half-suppressed  voice,  that  I  would  start  for  Nismes,  and  never 
again  see  the  walls  of  Montpellier,  I  also  vowed  unconsciously  I  would 
never  leave  the  charming  though  unhappy  woman ;  but  that  I  would 
cling  to  her,  although  my  passion  should  lead  to  inevitable  death. 

It  was  as  if  two  distinct  souls  were  struggling  within  me  with 
equal  power  and  skill.  But  consciousness  became  more  dim,  and 
the  feeling  of  duty  expired  in  the  feeling  of  the  all-engrossing  desire. 
I  resolved  to  hasten  to  Madame  Bertollon,  thinking  that  she  was 
perhaps  tormenting  herself  with  reproaches  at  the  weakness  she  had 
shown,  or  that  she  also  might  be  determined  to  leave  me  and  Mon- 
pellier.  I  intended  to  detain  her  to  reason  away  her  fears,  and  to 
endeavour  to  persuade  her  of  the  lawfulness  of  our  love. 

I  started  up  and  ran  to  the  door.  A  voice  within  me  again  cried, 
"  You  are  going  to  sin  then? — to  lose  the  long  guarded  feeling  of 


ALAMONTADE.  387 

innocence?"  I  hesitated,  and  stepped  back,  saying  to  myself,  "  Be 
pure  as  God  and  continue  so.  One  day  more  and  this  storm  will 
pass  over,  and  then  you  are  safe." 

This  holy  feeling  exalted  me;  the  words,  "Be  pure  as  God," 
sounded  above  the  tumult  of  my  agitated  feelings,  and  deterred  me, 
for  the  time  at  least,  from  hastening  to  Madame  Bertollon.  But  the 
struggle  remained  undecided ;  my  yearnings  became  more  impetuous, 
and  I  scorned  my  own  virtuous  intentions. 

At  this  moment  the  door  of  my  room  opened,  and  M.  Bertollon 
entered. 

"  How  are  you,  dear  Colas,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  unwell?"  At 
this  question  I  first  perceived  that  I  had  thrown  myself  on  my  bed , 
from  which  I  jumped  up,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  take  the  hand 
which  he  extended  to  me. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Colas?"  he  said  again,  "  you 
look  confused  and  pale." 

Before  I  could  reply,  the  voice  within  me  again  called,  "  Disclose 
all  to  him,  disclose  all  to  her  husband,  and  a  barrier  will  be  raised 
between  you  and  his  wife ;  you  will  remain  pure,  you  will  not  be 
the  seducer  of  a  woman,  nor  the  traitor  and  deceiver  of  your  noble 
benefactor  and  friend." 

"  Bertollon,"  said  I,  hastily,  fearing  that  I  might  not  finish  my 
confession;  "  I  am  unhappy,  because  I  love  your  wife."  I  had 
scarcely  uttered  the  last  syllable  when  remorse  seized  me ;  but  it  was 
too  late,  it  was  done,  the  husband  knew  all,  and  I  was  now  for  once 
right.  In  the  wild  tumult  of  the  senses,  when  powerful  passion 
struggles  with  the  sense  of  duty,  it  is  only  a  sudden  and  de- 
cided act  which  we  perceive  to  be  a  remedy,  that  can  save  us.  We 
must  as  it  were  forcibly  drive  the  reluctant  body  to  accomplish  it, 
until  we  can  no  more  return.  I  felt  like  one  who  is  tossed  about  by 
the  waves  of  the  ocean,  and  who,  when  on  the  point  of  drowning, 
indistinctly  perceives  before  his  giddy  eye  the  branches  on  the  shore, 
and  hears  a  voice  within  him  saying,  "  Seize  them." 

Bertollon  changed  colour  and  said,  "  What  did  you  say,  Colas?" 

"  I  must  go,  I  must  flee  Montpellier,  you  and  your  wife,  for  I 
love  her,"  replied  I. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  fool,"  said  he,  smiling,  and  he  regained  his 
usual  colour. 

"  No,  Bertollon,  I  am  in  earnest;  I  must  not  remain  here.  Your 
wife  is  a  virtuous  woman !  and  I  fear  my  intercourse  witli  her  will 
prove  her  ruin  and  my  own.  It  is  yet  time.  You  are  my  friend, 
my  benefactor,  I  will  not  deceive  you.  Take  this  bitter  confession 
as  a  proof  of  my  love  for  you.  I  am  too  weak  to  be  always  master 
of  myself,  and  your  wife  is  too  lovely  for  me  to  remain  indifferent 
near  her." 

"  A  saint  like  you,  Colas,"  said  Bertollon,  laughing  loud,  "  who 
with  pious  devotion  confesses  the  secrets  of  his  heart  to  the  husband 
himself,  will  not  be  dangerous  to  any  husband.  Compose  yourself; 


388  ALAMONTADE. 

you  will  remain  with  us.  What  folly  to  make  so  much  ado  about 
a  passion?  I  trust  you,  and  have  suspicion  neither  of  you  nor  of  my 
wife ;  let  that  suffice.  If  you  love  each  other,  what  can  I  do  against 
your  hearts?  If  I  interpose  the  world  between  you,  would  you 
love  each  other  less  for  that?  Will  your  removal  remove  also  your 
heart?  Love  each  other;  I  know  you  both  think  too  nobly  to 
forget  yourselves." 

He  said  all  this  so  ingenuously  and  cheerfully,  and  with  a  tone  of 
such  unsuspecting  confidence,  that  I  pressed  him  with  emotion  to  my 
heart.  His  noble-mindedness  renewed  my  virtuous  resolutions;  I 
was  ashamed  of  my  baseness  and  even  of  the  fact  that  it  had  cost 
me  so  hard  a  struggle. 

"  No !  dear  Bertollon,"  said  I.  "I  should  indeed  be  a  wretch  if 
I  could  betray  your  confidence  and  requite  your  friendship  so  dis- 
gracefully. You  have  brought  me  back  to  a  sense  of  my  better  self; 
I  will  remain  here,  and  the  recollection  of  your  trust  in  me  will 
preserve  me  against  any  dishonourable  intention.  I  will  remain 
and  prove  that  I  am  worthy  of  you,  by  breaking  off  all  intercourse 
with  your  wife.  I  will  never  see  her  alone ;  I  will 

"  Why  tell  me  all  this?"  interrupted  Bertollon.  "  It  is  enough 
that  I  trust  you.  Do  you  imagine  that  I  have  not  long  observed 
that  my  wife  loves  you,  that  her  love  is  characterised  by  her  violent, 
impetuous  temper,  and  that  her  passion  is  the  more  powerful  the 
more  she  conceals  it?  Impress  her  with  your  noble  principles,  and 
cure  her  if  you  wish ;  but  be  cautious.  I  know  her ;  her  love  might 
soon  change  into  terrible  hatred,  and  then  woe  be  to  you." 

"What!  Do  you  expect,  Bertollon,  that  I  shall  cure  her  of  a 
disease  by  which  I  am  myself  overwhelmed?  And  what  are  you 
talking  of  the  violence  of  her  temper?  Of  this  I  have  never  dis- 
covered even  the  slightest  symptom." 

"  Friend  Coks,  you  do  not  know  the  sex.  In  order  to  please 
you,  she  will  not  show  herself  in  her  true  colours;  and  should  she 
once  forget  herself,  love  will  make  you  blind." 

Here  the  subject  was  dropped,  and  he  engaged  my  attention  by 
another  topic,  as  he  would  not  suffer  me  to  resume  our  former  con- 
versation. The  more  I  had  cause  to  admire  the  extent  of  his  con- 
fidence, the  calmer  I  became,  and  the  more  I  resolved  to  separate 
gradually  from  his  wife.  The  following  evening  I  saw  her  again : 
she  was  sitting  alone  in  her  apartment,  her  beautiful  head  resting 
sadly  on  her  arm.  As  soon  as  she  perceived  me  she  rose,  her  face 
expressing  a  pleasing  confusion,  and  her  eyes  cast  down.  For  some 
time  we  remain  silent. 

At  length  I  asked,  trembling,  "  May  I  dare  to  appear  before 
you?  But  I  only  come  to  atone  for  my  transgression." 

To  this  she  made  no  reply. 

"  I  have  abused  your  confidence,"  I  continued.  "  Esteem  ought 
to  be  my  only  feeling  for  the  wife  of  my  friend.  I  have  acted  dis- 
honourably." 


ALAMONTADE.  389 

"  So  have  I,"  she  added  in  a  whisper. 

"  Alas !  madame,  I  feel  I  am  too  little  master  of  myself ; — nay,  who 
could  be  so  in  your  presence?  But,  should  it  cost  my  life,  I  will  not 
disturb  your  peace  of  mind.  My  resolution  is  unalterably  taken.  I 
have  discovered  my  innermost  heart  to  your  husband." 

"  Discovered !"  she  exclaimed,  terrified;  "  and  he — ?" 

"  He  at  first  changed  colour." 

i(  He  changed  colour?"  she  faltered. 

"  But  with  confidence  in  you,  madame,  and  with  a  confidence 
greater  than  my  virtue,  he  wished  to  dissuade  me  from  my  intention 
of  leaving  Montpellier." 

"  Was  that  your  intention,  Alamontade?" 

"  It  is  still  so.  I  love  you,  madame;  but  you  are  Bertollon's  wife, 
and  I  will  not  disturb  the  peace  of  a  family  to  which  I  am  indebted 
for  a  thousand  benefits." 

"  You  are  a  noble  man,"  said  she,  shedding  tears.  "  You  intend 
doing  what  I.  was  resolved  to  do.  My  clothes  are  ready  packed. 
I  must  and  will  not  conceal  from  you,  Alamontade,  that  I  wish  I 
had  never  known  you.  Our  friendship  grew  into  love.  I  deceived 
myself  in  vain,  and  struggled  too  late  against  my  violent  feelings. 

She  sobbed  more  violently,  and  exclaimed,  "  Yes,  it  is  better 
thus  !  We  must  part,  but  not  for  ever.  No  !  only  until  our  hearts 
beat  more  calmly,  until  we  can  meet  with  cooler  friendship." 

At  these  words  I  was  deeply  moved. 

"  But,  alas  !  kind  friend,"  she  continued,  still  sobbing,  and 
throwing  herself  on  my  bosom,  "  I  shall  not  long  survive  this  se- 
paration." 

While  her  heart  beat  against  mine,  and  our  passion  was  rekin- 
dled, and  our  sense  of  duty  was  struggling  for  victory,  the  hours  fled 
quickly.  We  vowed  eternal,  pure,  sacred  love,  and  yet  swore  to 
extinguish  it  in  our  hearts.  We  resolved  to  separate,  to  see  each 
other  seldom,  and  then  only  with  calmness,  and  in  the  presence  of 
witnesses,  and  sealed  the  indissoluble  alliance  of  our  souls  with  rap- 
turous kisses. 

What  a  wretched  creature  is  man  !  He  is  ever  weakest  when  he 
thinks  himself  strongest.  He  who  flees  temptation  is  the  hero ;  he 
who  wantonly  runs  into  it  to  attain  the  crown  of  virtue  has  lost  it 
before  he  begins  the  combat. 

When  we  parted,  we  agreed  that  I  should  not  go  farther  than  a 
league  from  Montpellier.  I  was  to  live  at  the  chateau  near  Gas- 
telnau,  and  only  to  come  to  town  on  an  occasional  visit.  Without 
delay  I  executed  my  design,  departing  without  venturing  to  take 
leave  of  Madame  Bertollon ;  and,  however  much  M.  Bertollon  was 
against  it,  he  was,  nevertheless,  obliged  at  last  to  consent. 

I  soon  recovered  from  my  delusion  in  the  tranquillity  of  rural 
nature.  I  felt  that  I  had  never  loved  Madame  Bertollon,  and  I 
despised  myself  for  endeavouring  to  make  her  believe  that  I  enter- 
tained a  sentiment  for  her  which  I  did  not  feel.  All  with  me  had 


390  ALAMONTADE. 

been  nothing  but  an  intoxicating  delusion,  which  was  first  produced 
by  the  unhappy  passion  that  this  lovely  creature  could  no  longer 
conceal  from  me.  She  alone  was  to  be  pitied,  and  it  was  my  duty 
to  restore  to  her  the  peace  she  had  lost. 

My  mind  now  gradually  resuming  its  wonted  serenity  and  cheer- 
fulness, rose  above  the  clouds  that  had  darkened  it,  and  Clementine's 
image  stood  before  me  more  resplendent  and  charming  than  ever. 
At  my  departure  from  Montpellier,  I  had  left  the  wreath  and  harp 
behind,  not  because  I  had  then  quite  forgotten  Clementine,  but  be- 
cause shame  and  a  sacred  awe  drove  me  back  when  I  was  on  the 
point  of  touching  the  adored  relics.  I  no  longer  thought  myself 
worthy  of  her,  and  considered  the  torments  of  my  longing,  and  of 
the  separation  from  her,  a  mild  penance  for  my  crime. 

Several  weeks  passed,  during  which  Bertollon  only  called  on 
me,  telling  me  often  that  he  could  not  live  without  me,  and  yet  that 
he  was  fettered  by  his  affairs  to  the  unlucky  town. 

He  made  several  attempts  to  induce  me  to  return  to  Montpellier; 
but  in  vain.  I  continued  in  my  salutary  retreat,  and  felt  myself 
happier. 

One  morning  early,  I  was  awakened  by  my  servant,  who  told  me 
that  M.  Larette,  a  friend  of  Bertollon's,  had  called,  and  desired  to 
speak  to  me  immediately.  At  the  same  moment,  Larette  himself 
entered,  pale  and  confused. 

"  Get  up,"  he  cried,  "  and  come  directly  to  Montpellier." 

"  What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked,  terrified. 

"  Get  up  and  dress  yourself;  you  must  not  lose  a  moment ;  Ber- 
tollon is  poisoned,  and  is  on  the  point  of  death." 

"  Poisoned?"  I  faltered,  and  sank  back  senseless  on  my  bed. 

"  Only  be  quick,  he  wishes  to  see  you  once  more;  I  hastened 
here  by  his  order." 

Trembling,  I  flung  on  my  clothes,  and  followed  him  mechanically 
to  the  door,  where  a  carriage  awaited  us.  We  stepped  in,  and, 
with  the  utmost  speed,  went  to  Montpellier. 

"  Poisoned?"  I  asked  again  on  the  way. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  M.  Larette,  "  but  there  is  an  inconceivable 
mystery  about  the  affair.  A  fellow  who  bought  the  poison  at  the 
chemist's  has  been  imprisoned ;  Madame  Bertollon  is  also  a  prisoner 
in  her  apartment." 

"  Madame  Bertollon  a  prisoner ! — For  what  reason  ?  And  who 
has  put  her  under  arrest?" 

"  The  magistrate." 

"  The  magistrate  !  Is  the  police  mad  enough  to  fancy  Madame 
Bertollon  capable  of  poisoning  her  husband?" 

"  He  believes  it,  and  every  body " 

"  Sir,  you  are  shrugging  your  shoulders;  '  And  every  body  ?  — ' 
Well,  continue :  what  were  you  going  to  say." 

"  That  every  body  believes  it.  The  fellow,  Valentine  I  think  is 
his  name " 


ALAMONTADE.  391 

"  Wliat  Valentine  ?  Sure  the  old  faithful  servant,  the  most  ho- 
nest fellow  under  the  sun " 

"  Well,  he  has  deposed,  that  about  a  week  ago,  he  fetched  the 
poison  by  order  of  Madame  Bertollon." 

"  The  infernal  liar;  the " 

"  And  Madame  Bertollon,  when  interrogated  about  the  servant's 
deposition,  has  confessed  it  unconditionally.  There,  that  is  the 
whole  affair." 

"  Confessed  ?  I  am  bewildered ;  for  I  do  not  understand  you. 
What  has  she  confessed?" 

"  That  she  sent  Valentine  for  the  poison." 

"  Horrible !  and  also  that  it  was  she  that  murdered,  poisoned,  her 
own  husband?" 

"  Who  would  like  to  confess  such  things?  but  such  unfortunately 
is  the  case.  Bertollon  felt  yesterday  morning  his  usual  indispo- 
sition ;  you  know  he  is  sometimes  subject  to  giddiness.  He  then 
requested  his  wife,  who  keeps  a  medicine-chest,  to  give  him  the 
usual  cordial,  a  very  expensive  essence  which  she  keeps  in  a  gilt 
blue  phial."  ^ 

"  I  know  it  well  and  also  the  essence." 

"  She  herself  poured  it  into  a  spoon,  added  some  sugar  and  admi- 
nistered it  to  her  husband.  In  a  short  time  he  felt  the  most  violent 
spasms  in  his  bowels.  The  physician  was  sent  for  and  recognised 
the  symptoms  as  the  effect  of  poison;  of  which  they  found  remains 
in  the  spoon.  The  physician  did  his  utmost  to  save  him.  He  asked 
for  the  essence  to  analyze  it.  At  this  Madame  Bertollon  was  of- 
fended, and  asked  whether  they  thought  she  was  a  poisoner;  but  at 
length  being  no  longer  able  to  refuse  the  phial  without  causing  sus- 
picion, she  gave  it  up.  In  the  meanwhile  several  physicians  had 
been  called,  as  well  as  an  officer  of  the  police.  The  affair  becoming 
known,  the  druggist,  who  recollected  that  the  poison  had  been 
bought  by  Valentine,  had  informed  the  police  of  the  circumstance. 
Valentine  was  immediately  arrested,  but  referred  to  his  mistress  and 
her  orders.  Madame  Bertollon  being  interrogated  by  the  police, 
fainted;  all  her  keys  were  taken  from  her,  the  medicine-chest  was 
examined,  and  the  poison,  which  was  recognised  by  the  above-men- 
tioned druggist,  was  found.  It  was,  however,  deficient  in  weight, 
and  the  essence  in  the  blue  phial  being  likewise  examined,  the 
poison  was  discovered  in  that.  Thus,  sir,  do  matters  stand,  and 
you  may  think  of  it  as  you  please." 

I  shuddered  but  did  not  say  a  word,  seeing  in  the  whole  a  hor- 
rible connexion  which  neither  Larette  nor  any  one  but  myself  could 
perceive.  Madame  Bertollon  loved  me  with  frightful  intensity,  and 
our  separation  had  increased  her  passion  instead  of  checking  it ;  thus 
she  conceived  this  atrocious  plan  of  freeing  herself  from  her  hus- 
band. I  called  to  mind  the  consuming  fire  in  her  character,  of 
which  Bertollon  had  told  me.  I  also  remembered  my  last  interview 

2  D 


392  ALAMONTADE. 

with  her,  during  which  I  had  inconsiderately  told  her  that  I  had 
candidly  confessed  our  attachment  to  her  husband,  and  how  she 
then  was  startled,  and  how  she  had  inquired  anxiously  concerning 
Bertollon's  deportment. 

My  conjecture  was  changed  into  a  frightful  certainty.  I  could 
imagine  how  the  black  thought  was  matured  in  her,  I  saw  her  mix- 
ing 'the  accursed  draught,  and,  infatuated  by  her  passion,  presenting 
it  to  her  unhappy  husband. 

We  arrived  in  Montpellier.  I  hastened  to  the  room  of  my  be- 
loved benefactor,  exclaiming  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs:  "Is  he  still 
living?" 

They  told  me  in  whispers  to  be  calm,  and  prevented  me  from  en- 
tering his  apartment.  He  had  sunk  into  a  gentle  slumber,  from 
which  he  was  expected  to  derive  benefit,  and  even  to  recover  dur- 
ing its  influence. 

"  And  where  is  Madame  Bertollon  ?"  I  asked. 

In  answer  to  this  I  was  told  that  she  had  left  the  house  early 
that  morning,  and  had  gone  to  her  relations,  where  she  was  under 
arrest  upon  the  security  of  her  family;  that  her  nearest  relations,  by 
their  influence  and  with  much  difficulty,  had  succeeded  in  saving 
her  from  the  disgrace  of  imprisonment.  I  was  further  told  in  con- 
fidence that  M.  Bertollon  had  advised  her,  through  a  friend,  to  fly 
to  Italy  before  it  was  too  late.  As  she  hesitated,  her  brothers  also 
had  endeavoured  to  persuade  her  to  avail  herself  of  her  short 
period  of  liberty.  Her  pride,  however,  triumphed,  and  her  reply 
was:  "  I  shall  not  fly,  for  by  doing  so  I  should  own  a  crime  of 
which  I  am  not  yet,  and  cannot  be,  convicted." 

Beauty  of  form  exerts  its  magic  only  so  far  as  we  conceive  it  to 
be  the  sign  of  a  noble  soul,  but  loses  all  its  power,  nay,  inspires  us 
with  horror,  when  it  is  the  cloak  of  crime.  Let  the  artist  paint  Sin 
beautiful  on  the  threshold  of  hell,  and  it  will  be  a  thousand  times 
more  terrible  when  that  which  is  dearest  to  man  is  but  the  tool  of 
his  wickedness. 

I  could  no  longer  think  of  Madame  Bertollon  without  detes- 
tation. She  was  a,  poisoner,  and  all  that  Larette  had  hastily  told  me 
was  confirmed  in  Montpellier;  while  a  number  of  various  circum- 
stances threw  still  greater  light  on  her  murderous  deed. 

All  Montpellier  was  in  agitation  at  this  extraordinary  occurrence. 
Bertollons  gradual  recovery,  which  was  accomplished  by  the  skill 
of  the  physicians,  caused  the  most  lively  joy  in  every  house.  I  no 
more  left  the  bed  of  my  beloved  friend,  whom  I  honoured  as  a 
father  and  a  brother. 

"Oh,  Bertollon  I"  I  exclaimed  one  day,  "  You  are  saved.  How 
miserable  I  should  have  been  had  you  died !  My  grief  would  not 
long  have  allowed  me  to  survive  your  death.  You  are  my  only 
friend,  the  only  one  in  the  world ;  you  are  my  benefactor,  my  guar- 
dian angel.  I  am  always  ready  to  die  for  you.  And  is  it  possible 


ALAMONTADE.  393 

that  a  woman,  sucli  a  tender  timid  creature,  a  woman  endowed 
with  such  heavenly  charms,  a  woman  whose  eyes  and  mouth 
preached  virtue  so  sweetly,  could  be  so  atrocious?" 

"  Do  you  still  love  her,  Alamontade/'  said  Bertollon,  pressing 
my  hand. 

"  Love  her?  The  very  thought  is  revolting  to  me.  I  never  loved 
her ;  it  was  only  trifling  vanity  and  a  delusion  of  the  senses  that 
I  once  in  my  infatuation  called  love.  I  have  never  loved  her.  A 
secret  power  always  drove  my  heart  from  her.  How  should  I  love 
one  who  intended  to  murder  you  ?  I  curse  every  hour  I  spent  in 
her  society ;  and  repent  the  attentions  I  lavished  on  her.  Ah !  I 
knew  her  not." 

By  this  time  the  trial  had  commenced.  The  most  celebrated 
counsel  in  Montpellier,  M.  Menard,  came  forward  of  his  own 
accord  to  the  family  of  the  accused,  and  offered  to  be  her  defender. 
Menard  had  never  lost  a  suit.  The  charm  of  his  eloquence  con- 
quered all;  where  he  could  not  convince  reason  he  knew  how  to 
entangle  it  inextricably  by  doubts,  and  to  excite  against  it  all  the 
feelings  of  the  heart.  Whenever  he  spoke  in  the  court  it  was 
crowded  with  spectators,  who  often  came  from  distant  parts  to  hear 
him.  He  undertook  with  success  even  the  worst  cause,  if  he  could 
expect  from  it  a  rich  reward. 

"  I  desire  nothing,"  said  Bertollon,  "  but  an  eternal  separation 
from  the  poisoner,  and  I  require  no  other  punishment  for  her  than 
the  failure  of  her  attempt.  Her  own  conscience  and  public  con- 
tempt are  a  sufficient  sting  to  her.  I  know  Menard  is  my  personal 
enemy.  He  was  once  my  rival,  and  I  foresee  that  by  his  artifices 
he  will  so  confound  and  dazzle  the  judges  and  people,  that  my  in- 
famous wife  will  extricate  herself  triumphantly." 

'•'  That  he  shall  not  do !"  I  exclaimed  with  vehemence.  "  Pray 
Bertollon  entrust  me  with  your  case,  though  I  am  but  a  beginner, 
and  have  never  spoken  in  a  court  of  law.  Confide  in  me  and  the 
justness  of  your  cause.  Indeed,  it  does  not  grieve  me  to  appear 
before  the  tribunal  against  a  lady  whom  I  once  called  my  friend, 
and  who  loaded  me  with  treacherous  favours.  You  are  my  brother 
and  benefactor,  your  cause  is  sacred." 

Bertollon  smiled,  expressing  at  the  same  time  his  doubts  as  to  my 
being  a  match  for  my  adversary's  tact.  At  length,  however^  he 
agreed  to  my  wish  of  making  his  suit  the  first  trial  of  my  ability, 
but  was  apparently  apprehensive. 

"  Be  easy,  dear  Bertollon,"  said  I,  "  friendship  will  inspire  and 
exalt  me  if  I  should  seem  to  sink  under  Menard's  superior  powers,  and 
notwithstanding  all  his  subtlety  he  will  not  be  able  to  get  over  the 
facts  which  his  client  too  hastily  confessed." 

From  time  immemorial  no  trial  had  excited  greater  interest  than 
this,  which  was  rendered  so  conspicuous,  both  by  the  atrocity  of  its 
cause,  and  the  respectability  of  the  parties  concerned.  And  what  a 
part  I  undertook !  No  one  knew  the  relation  in  which  I  had  stood 

2  D2 


394  ALAMONTADE. 

to  Madame  Bertollon.  No  one  imagined  that  I  had  once  clasped 
the  accused  to  my  heart  in  a  moment  of  extatic  rapture ;  no  one 
knew  that  her  illicit  affection  for  me  had  perhaps  given  her  hand 
the  first  direction  towards  mixing  the  poisonous  draught. 

All  this  was  still  a  secret,  and  was  to  remain  so  until  Menard's  arl 
should  threaten  victory  over  me.  Then  only  this  last  mine  was  tc 
explode  against  him. 

When  it  was  reported  in  Montpellier  that  I  was  Bertollon 's  ad- 
vocate, success  was  given  to  my  opponent  beforehand.  After  suffi- 
cient investigation,  and  the  examination  of  witnesses,  Menard  and] 
were  called  to  the  bar.  This  powerful  speaker  seemed  only  to  mod* 
me.  He  almost  evinced  contempt  at  appearing  against  a  young  man, 
who  had  recently  been  his  pupil,  and  was  now  going  to  make  his 
debut.  He  spoke  with  such  power  that  he  affected  me  most  deeply, 
and  almost  inspired  me  for  the  cause  of  the  accused. 

The  trial  had  been  prolonged  by  Menard's  manoeuvres  for  sb< 
months,  when  I  had  hoped  to  conquer  in  a  few  weeks.  Me- 
nard was  always  followed  by  the  applause  of  the  people  011  leav- 
ing the  court;  and  it  appeared  that  I  wasted  my  energies  in 
rendering  his  victory  more  difficult,  only  to  increase  his  laurels. 

The  beauty  of  the  accused  had  gained  for  her  party  all  the  young 
men  of  the  town,  and  her  former  beneficence  engaged  for  her  the 
poorer  class  of  the  people.  I  had  to  contend  against  Menard,  againsl 
the  secret  predilection  of  innumerable  hearts  prejudiced  in  hei 
favour,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  virtues  which  Madame  Bertollor 
had  once  displayed. 

The  more,  however,  my  cause  seemed  hopeless,  the  more  my 
courage  rose.  An  unusual  energy  animated  me,  and  Menard  him- 
self began  to  respect  or  fear  me  the  more  I  drove  him  back  from  his 
first  conquests.  His  party  diminished  in  proportion,  as  he  was  forced 
to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  facts  which  he  had  before  rendered  doubt- 
ful and  uncertain.  Soon  I  heard  my  praise  in  public ;  soon  a  Final] 
number  of  partisans  surrounded  me :  soon  the  applause  of  the  people 
was  increased,  the  more  Madame  Bertollon  appeared  guilty,  and  hei 
beauty  and  virtues  were  eclipsed  and  darkened  by  the  remembrance 
of  so  black  a  deed. 

Pleasing  as  this  incense  was  to  me,  it  delighted  me  less  than 
Clementine's  quiet  approval.  Madame  Bertollon  was  related  to  the 
family  De  Sonnes.  When  it  was  known  that  I  undertook  Bertollon's 
cause,  Clementine  often  appeared  at  the  window  shaking  her  head 
sadly,  and  making  menacing  signs.  I  thought  I  understood  her, 
and  shrugged  my  shoulders,  but  was  not  deterred  from  performing 
a  duty  so  sacred. 

As  my  name  became  more  known  and  lauded  in  Montpellier,  she 
became  more  friendly.  She  appeared  to  forget  her  relationship  to 
Madame  Bertollon  in  my  success.  Yes !  I  saw  myself  loved  by  the 
angel  I  adored.  No  mortal  could  be  happier  than  I.  Our  dumb 
correspondence  had  now  lasted  for  years. 


ALAMONTADE.  395 

But  I  turn  to  that  fatal  trial  which  now  took  the  most  serious  turn 
for  the  accused.  Madame  Bertollon  seeing  every  fact  and  witness  in 
league  against  her,  could  do  nothing  but  strongly  deny  her  intention 
of  poisoning  her  husband,  though  appearances  rendered  her  guilty. 
I  now  insisted  on  interrogating  her  more  closely  respecting  her  object 
in  buying  the  poison  a  week  previous  to  the  deed.  To  this  she  gave 
evasive  answers,  and  entangled  herself  in  contradictions.  It  was 
evident  that  she  feared  discovering  the  reason.  All  the  entreaties  of 
her  relations,  and  the  menaces  of  her  advocate,  were  of  no  avail.  This 
increased  the  suspicion;  Menard  gave  up  his  case  as  lost,  though 
still  protesting  her  innocence.  The  tribunal  ordered  closer  confine- 
ment, and  threatened  the  first  examination  by  the  rack  to  force  con- 
fession. 

Now  Madame  Bertollon  undertook  to  plead  her  own  cause  before 
the  tribunal  in  which  Menard  had  been  so  unsuccessful.  In  this  I 
saw  nothing  but  an  artifice  of  Menard  himself,  who  wished  to  call 
the  power  of  female  beauty  to  his  aid  to  support  his  eloquence. 

As  she  entered  the  hall  a  deathlike  silence  prevailed.  She  never 
was  so  charming  as  at  this  moment;  her  simple  attire,  and  the  pale- 
ness of  deep  grief,  summoned  compassion  into  each  heart,  and  tears 
into  every  eye. 

All  was  silent,  and  all  eyes  were  turned  from  her  upon  me.  I  was 
to  speak,  bat  could  not,  such  was  my  inexpressible  confusion.  She 
was  the  picture  of  suffering  innocence.  All  the  delightful  hours  I 
had  spent  with  her  were  recalled  to  my  memory  on  seeing  her,  and 
surrounded  my  soul  like  weeping  angels  pleading  for  her  and  whis- 
pering that  she  was  certainly  guiltless. 

At  length  I  recovered.  I  declared  that  no  one  would  be  more 
delighted  by  a  proof  of  the  innocence  of  the  accused  than  her  hus- 
band, and  myself,  his  advocate.  But  for  this  proof  it  was  necessary 
that  she  should  remove  suspicion  and  confess  her  intention  in  pur- 
chasing the  poison. 

Madame  Bertollon  appeared  very  weak,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
her  advocate.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  painful  glance,  expressive 
of  love  and  sorrow, 

"  Oh  !  Alamontade,"  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice,  "  and  must  it  be 
you  to  urge  the  discovery  of  my  object  in  purchasing  the  poison? 
You — and  in  this  place?" 

After  a  few  moments'  silence  she  suddenly  rose,  turned  her  pale 
countenance  towards  the  judges,  and  said,  in  a  bitter  tone,  expressive 
of  mental  despair, 

"  My  lords,  you  have  threatened  me  with  the  rack  to  force  my 
confession ;  that  is  sufficient,  and  I  will  put  an  end  to  the  proceed- 
ings— I  am  guilty,  I  intended  a  murder  with  this  poison.  More  you 
will  not  learn  from  me;  pronounce  your  verdict." 

She  turned  and  left  the  court— perfect  silence  and  utter  amaze- 
ment prevailed.  Two  days  afterwards  the  tribunal  pronounced  the 
verdict  of  "  guilty"  against  the  wretched  woman. 


396  ALAMONTADE. 

M.  Bertollon  had  long  since  recovered.  He  was  more  cheerful 
than  usual,  and  joked  as  before  at  my  zeal  for  virtue;  he  loved  me 
at  the  same  time  so  truly  that  it  grieved  him  that  I  so  obstinately 
persisted  in  my  strict  principles.  I  therefore  sometimes  afforded  him 
the  satisfaction  of  appearing  to  agree  with  him,  and  of  yielding  to 
his  favourite  whim,  that  all  upon  earth  was  but  a  play  of  expediency. 

The  evening  previous  to  the  day  on  which  the  sentence  was 
passed  I  was  with  him;  we  were  cheerfully  sitting  at  our  wine, 
until  midnight,  and  swore  everlasting  friendship  to  each  other  till 
death. 

"  Tell  me,  Colas,  do  you  know  Clementine  de  Sonnes?" 

I  blushed.  Wine  and  confidence  in  his  friendship  elicited  the 
holy  secret.  Bertollon  laughed  immoderately,  exclaiming  repeatedly, 
"  Simpleton  that  you  are!  you  are  everywhere  tricked  by  your 
heavenly  virtue.  Pray  be  rational  for  once,  why  have  you  not  told 
me  this  long  since?  She  would  now  be  your  betrothed;  well, 
she  shall  be  yours,  here  is  my  hand  upon  it.  With  prudence  we 
may  subdue  the  world,  why  not  a  girl  or  a  proud  family?  I  have 
already  observed  that  Clementine  is  not  likely  to  refuse  you." 

In  raptures  I  clasped  my  friend  in  my  arms.  "  Oh  !  if  you  could 
do  that,  Bertollon,  you  would  make  me  happy — make  me  a  god." 

"  So  much  the  better,  for  I  shall  still  want  your  divine  assistance 
for  some  pet  plan.  A  girl  so  like  your  Clementine  that  they  might 
be  taken  for  sisters.  Such  a  girl  lives  at  Adze.  You  simpletons 
have  hitherto  thought  that  I  go  there  as  frequently  as  I  do  for  the 
sake  of  pure  air  or  business.  No;  I  love  the  girl  inexpressibly;  no 
woman  ever  fettered  me  like  her.  As  soon  as  I  am  rid  of  my 
wife  I  shall  court  the  Venus  of  Adze.  But  then,  M.  Colas,  I  shall 
trouble  you  not  to  have  such  conversations  with  my  future  wife  as 
you  used  to  enjoy  with  my  first  one." 

"  What,  Bertollon !"  I  exclaimed,  confounded;  "  you  will  many 
again?" 

"  Certainly.  Look  you.  I  at  first  thought  you  were  going  to 
play  a  romance  in  due  form  with  my  wife ;  I  thought  you  really 
loved  her,  in  which  case  I  would  have  resigned  her  to  you,  and  then 
we  could  have  come  to  some  arrangement  in  the  affair.  I  should 
have  liked  it  very  well,  and  we  should  not  have  had  all  this  ado 
about  the  poison  which  had  nearly  gone  against  me." 

"  But  how  do  you  mean,  Bertollon?  I  do  not  quite  understand 
you." 

"  I  must  tell  you,  you  innocent.  In  my  wife's  absence,  I 
one  evening  secretly  searched  her  drawers — you  may  laugh;  you 
see  I  did  not  quite  trust  you  at  that  time,  with  all  your  virtue ;  for  I 
thought  you  had  exchanged  love  letters  of  grief  and  affection. 
While  so  doing,  the  lame  Jacques  happened  to  come  down  the  stairs 
and  saw  me  leave  my  wife's  room  after  I  played  her  this  trick.  But 
the  blockhead  passed  quickly  and  saluted  me." 

11  What  trick  do  you  mean?  You  talk  so  confusedly.  Drink! 
here  is  to  your  health." 


ALAMONTADE.  397 

"  And  to  yours,  Colas !  You  have  acquitted  yourself  well.  You 
are  a  capital  fellow.  I  lay  you  would  not  have  made  an  address  half 
so  good  before  the  court  against  my  wife,  had  you  known  that  I  my- 
self mixed  the  poison  with  the  essence,  though  it  was  only  a  small 
quantity." 

"  No !  certainly  not,  dear  Bertollon." 

"  Therefore  it  was  wise  on  my  part  not  to  tell  you  before;  now 
it  can  do  no  harm."" 

"  Why  you  were  not  fool  enough  to  wish  to  poison  yourself  ?" 
"  As  to  that  I  knew  very  well  that  I  was  in  no  great  danger.     I 
was  only  astonished  to  find  poison  in  my  wife's  possession.     She  had 
labelled  it.     But  what  do  you  think  she  intended  to  do  with  it?" 
"  Why,  that  is  an  enigma." 

"  But  it  was  a  deep  trick,  Colas,  was  it  not?  The  following  morn- 
ing I  pretended  giddiness,  sent  for  my  wife,  who  brought  me  the 
essence  herself  as  usual.  The  physician  was  also  sent  for,  and  an 
antidote  was  applied,  but  I  had  only  mixed  in  a  small  quantity  of 
the  poison." 

"  But  Bertollon,  what  are  you  talking  about?  Your  wife  after 
all  then  is  quite  innocent?" 

"  That  is  the  joke  in  the  affair.  And  you  have  pleaded  your 
throat  sore  for  nothing.  But  drink ;  this  will  cure  it.  Confess  now, 
was  it  not  a  bold  stroke  of  mine  ?  My  wife  must  think  she  is  quite 
bewitched,  for  she  does  not  know  that  I  have  the  best  of  picklocks 
in  the  world  for  all  her  drawers." 

"  But — "  said  I,  becoming  suddenly  sober  with  horror. 
;'  Let  no  one  hear  any  thing  of  this;  you,  Colas,  are  my  only  con- 
fidant. You  must  know  that  the  affair  might  have  terminated 
badly  after  all,  as  in  my  haste  I  upset  a  phial  containing  a  red  liquid 
in  the  medicine-chest,  and  forgot  to  replace  it.  But,  to  cut  the  matter 
short,  Colas,  I  am  happy.  You  shall  be  so  too.  I  swear  to  you  that 
the  day  on  which  I  marry  Julia,  you  shall  celebrate  your  nuptials 
with  Clementine.  But  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Actually 
you  are  fainting.  There — drink  some  water.  The  champagne  does 
not  agree  with  you." 

He  supported  me  with  one  arm,  while  offering  me  the  glass  with 
the  other,  which  I  pushed  back  shuddering.  I  was  stunned  by 
what  I  had  heard. 

"  Go  to  bed,"  he  said. 

I  left  him,  while  he  staggered  after  me,  laughing  loudly. 
Midnight  had  long  passed,  sleep  had  not  visited  me,  and  when 
morning  approached  I  had  not  even  undressed,  and  I  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  in  great  agitation.  What  a  night !  What  had  I 
learned?  I  was  not  able  to  believe  so  atrocious  and  revolting  a 
crime.  An  innocent  and  virtuous  wife,  who  had  never  offended 
her  husband,  plunged  into  prison  and  everlasting  disgrace;  the 
husband  abusing  his  friend  by  making  him  accomplish  his  hellish 
designs,  and  innocence  tortured  with  pangs  more  bitter  than  death •' 


398  ALAMONTADE. 

I  felt  some  relief,  however,  in  the  hope  that  Bertollon  only  wished 
to  test  my  friendship.  For,  if  he  really  had  acted  so  atrociously, 
how  could  he  venture  to  let  another  glass  of  wine  pass  his  lips,  since 
every  drop  threatened  to  disclose  his  secret;  how  could  he  so  shame- 
lessly reveal  himself  in  all  his  atrocity,  either  to  a  villain  or  to  an  ho- 
nourable man  ? 

But  I  hoped  in  vain  to  deceive  myself ;  his  expressions  respecting 
me  and  his  unfortunate  wife,  and  his  former  willingness  to  resign 
her  to  me,  made  all  but  too  true.  His  early  plans  were  now  be- 
coming clearly  developed  in  the  misty  distance.  I  recollected 
many  expressions  which  he  had  used,  and  that  he  himself  favoured 
my  intercourse  with  Madame  Bertollon,  and  refused  to  become  sus- 
picious of  our  intimacy.  And  when  he  spoke  of  the  vehemence 
and  reserve  of  her  disposition,  he  probably  then  conceived  designs 
of  charging  her  with  this  crime. 

The  morning  had  dawned,  and  I  was  still  undecided  as  to  what  I 
should  do.  Innocence  must  be  saved,  but  her  safety  must  be  the 
ruin  of  my  benefactor,  my  first  and  only  friend ;  only  an  excess  of 
love  for  me  had  elicited  the  horrible  secret.  Should  I  go  and  be- 
tray him  ?  He  was  the  author  of  my  happiness ;  should  the  hand 
which  had  received  innumerable  benefits  from  him,  plunge  him 
ungratefully  into  an  unfathomable  abyss  ?  Should  I  lose  him  whom 
I  still  loved,  the  only  one  who  loved  me?  "  Unhappy  series  of 
events,"  I  sighed,  "  must  I  become  the  instrument  of  fettering  in- 
nocence, or  of  sacrificing  the  life  of  my  benefactor?" 

But  my  conscience  cried,  "  Be  just  before  you  wish  to  be  kind  1 
Whatever  consequences  may  attend  the  actions  which  we  perform, 
from  duty, — nay,  even  did  they  involve  the  destruction  of  ourselves 
— nothing  should  hinder  us  when  virtue  is  at  stake.  Return  to  your 
poverty,  go  solitary  and  cheerfully  through  life,  only  save  your 
peace  of  mind  and  carry  with  you  a  quiet  conscience.  You  did 
what  justice  required.  There  is  a  God,  be  pure  as  he  is." 

I  wrote  to  the  police  inspector  of  the  district  to  come  immediately 
to  me  on  most  urgent  business.  On  his  arrival  I  repaired  to  Ber- 
tollon's  room,  while  the  officer  remained  without. 

Bertollon  was  still  asleep ;  I  trembled,  love  and  compassion  over- 
came me,  I  exclaimed,  "  Bertollon,"  and  kissed  him. 

1  Ic  awoke,  and  I  suffered  him  to  wake  completely  during  some 
indifferent  conversation. 

"  Tell  me,"  I  said,  at  length,  "  is  your  wife  really  innocent  ?  Had 
you  poisoned  the  essence  yourself  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  penetrating  glance,  saying,  "  Be  silent." 

"  But,  Bertollon,  this  answer  is  but  a  confirmation  of  last  night's 
statement.  I  conjure  you,  my  friend,  remove  my  doubts.  Have 
you  done  all  you  said,  or  did  you  only  wish  to " 

IWtollon  rose,  and  said,  "  Colas!  I  trust  you  are  discreet." 

"  But  speak,  Bertollon,  pray  speak  !  the  court  will  pass  sentence 
on  your  wife  to-day,  let  not  innocence  perish  !" 


ALAMONTADE.  399 

"Arc  you  mad,  Colas?  Would  you  become  the  betrayer  of 
your  friend  ?" 

While  stammering  this  he  appeared  in  violent  emotion.  He 
turned  pale,  and  his  lips  became  livid;  his  eyes  stared  vacantly. 
All  proved  too  certainly  that  he  had  confessed  the  previous  night, 
in  the  excitement  of  wine,  circumstances  at  which  he  was  now  terri- 
fied, seeing  they  were  no  longer  safe  in  my  keeping. 

I  put  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Ber- 
tollon !  dress,  take  money  enough  with  you,  and  flee.  I  will  manage 
the  rest.1' 

With  a  look  threatening  death,  he  asked,  "  Why?" 

"  Fly,  I  say,  while  there  is  time." 

"  Why?"  he  replied,  "Do  you  intend or  have  you,  perhaps, 

already " 

"  By  all  that  is  dear  and  sacred  to  you,  fly  !" 

While  I  whispered  these  last  words  to  him,  he  suddenly  jumped 
up,  looked  about  the  room  as  if  searching  for  something,  which 
made  me  think  he  had  forgotten  in  his  consternation  that  his  clothes 
lay  near  the  bed.  While  I  stooped  to  give  them  to  him  he  fired  a 
pistol  at  me,  and  the  blood  gushed  down  over  my  chest. 

The  door  was  burst  open,  and  the  inspector  of  police  entered  in  ter- 
ror. Bertollon  still  holding  in  one  hand  the  pistol  he  had  fired,  and  a 
second  in  the  other,  looked  aghast  at  the  unexpected  appearance. 

"  Accursed  dog !"  he  cried  to  me,  with  gestures  of  despair,  and 
flung  the  discharged  pistol  furiously  at  my  head.  Another  shot 
followed — Bertollon  had  shot  himself.  He  reeled  against  me — I 
caught  him  in  my  arms — his  head  was  shattered." 

I  became  senseless,  sank  on  the  floor,  and  when  I  first  recovered 
consciousness,  I  found  myself  in  my  own  room,  with  physicians  and 
servants  busy  about  me.  My  wound,  which  was  under  the  left 
shoulder,  was  probed  and  dressed,  but  was  not  dangerous. 

All  around  me  were  in  great  consternation.  Several  of  Bertol- 
lon's  friends  were  near  me,  assailing  me  with  questions. 

I  dismissed  them,  and,  when  recovered,  dressed  myself  and 
ordered  a  sedan-chair  to  carry  me  to  the  assembled  court. 

In  the  meanwhile  Bertollon's  suicide  had  become  known  in  the 
town.  An  enormous  concourse  of  people  thronged  his  house,  but 
when  they  learned  that  I  intended  going  to  the  court  the  curious 
crowd  followed  me. 

Sentence  had  already  been  passed  on  Madame  Bertollon  at  a  pri- 
vate sitting  of  the  court.  The  moment  she  was  led  into  the  hall  to 
hear  it  before  the  assembled  multitude,  I  arrived. 

I  begged  a  hearing  as  I  had  to  make  important  disclosures.  Per- 
mission to  speak  was  granted  me.  Amidst  a  silence  as  if  death 
reigned,  I  said  to  the  judges:  "  My  lords,  once  I  stood  here  the 
accuser  of  innocence,  I  now  come  to  save  her,  and  to  prepare  her  for 
a  well-deserved  triumph.  I  was  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  cir- 
cumstances, deceived  and  abused  by  my  friend,  and  an  accomplice 


400  ALAMONTADE. 

in  an  act  of  cruelty  without  knowing  it.  'The  unfortunate  lady 
upon  whom  you  are  about  to  pronounce  sentence  is  not  guilty  of 
any  crime." 

I  now  distinctly  stated  the  history  of  the  previous  night,  Ber- 
tollon's  suicide,  and  his  attempt  on  my  life.  Beside  me  stood  the 
police-inspector  as  a  witness,  and  lame  Jacques,  who  recollected  that 
he  had  seen  M.  Bertollon  the  evening  previous  to  the  poison  being 
taken,  coming  from  the  apartment  of  his  wife  with  a  light. 

Such  a  termination  to  the  trial  in  which  I  had  at  first  achieved 
such  a  splendid  victory  over  my  opponent  Menard,  and  which  was 
to  found  my  reputation  in  that  country,  no  one  had  expected. 
During  my  speech  astonishment  and  horror  were  depicted  on  a 
thousand  faces.  But  when  I  stopped,  a  murmuring  arose  which 
swelled  to  loud  exultation.  My  name  was  shouted  with  enthu- 
siastic joy,  and  the  eyes  of  all  were  filled  with  tears. 

All  order  was  at  an  end :  Madame  Bertollon  had  sunk  fainting 
amidst  the  congratulations  of  those  around.  The  vice-governor  of  the 
province,  a  relation  of  the  Mareschale  Montreval,  whom  chance  or 
curiosity  brought  to  the  court,  descended  from  his  seat  and  em- 
braced me.  M.  Menard  followed  his  example,  amidst  the  shouts  of 
the  enthusiastic  multitude. 

I  was  led  to  Madame  Bertollon,  my  knees  failed  me,  I  sank 
down  and  pressed  her  hand,  which  I  bedewed  with  tears. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me?"  I  faltered. 

With  a  look  full  of  excessive  love  and  a  heavenly  smile,  she 
looked  down  on  me.  "  Alamontade  !"  she  sighed  softly,  but  tears 
checked  her  words. 

The  court  broke  up  and  the  judges  embraced  me.  In  vain  I  en- 
deavoured to  find  Madame  Bertollon ;  the  crowd  was  too  great.  I 
was  led  down  the  steps  of  the  court-house,  through  the  dense  mass 
which  headed  me,  with  marks  of  honour. 

In  the  act  of  getting  into  my  sedan,  I  was  stopped  by  a  well- 
dressed  young  man  saying,  "  Sir,  you  cannot  possibly  return  with 
pleasant  feelings  to  a  house  which  still  contains  the  corpse  of  a 
suicide,  and  which  must  remind  you  of  the  most  horrible  circum- 
stances. Do  me  the  honour  of  allowing  me  to  entertain  you  in  the 
meanwhile  in  my  own  house." 

This  invitation,  urged  with  cordiality,  was   quite    unexpected. 
Tears  still  sparkled  in  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  he  entreated  me 
rnestly  that  I  could  not  refuse.     He  pressed  my  hand  with  joy- 
ful gratitude,  gave  orders  to  the  bearers  and  disappeared. 

Followed  by  the  acclamations  of  the  multitude  through  the 
streets,  I  proceeded  but  slowly,  but  at  length  arrived  at  the  house 
of  my  unknown  friend.  I  only  noticed  that  it  was  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Bertollon's  house  and  in  the  street  where  Clementine 
lived,  which  could  not  be  an  unpleasant  discovery  to  me,  though  I 
was  still  confused  and  overcome. 

At  the  foot  of  the  steps  in  the  inner  court,  the  sedan-chair  was 


ALAMONTADE.  401 

opened.  The  friendly  stranger  awaited  me ;  I  saw  myself  in  a  large 
splendid  building,  and  was  assisted  tip  the  marble  stairs  by  two 
servants. 

All  that  is  terrible  and  pleasing  in  human  life  was  compressed 
for  me  into  the  narrow  space  of  this  one  day. 

The  folding-doors  were  opened,  and  some  ladies  advanced  to 
receive  me.  The  eldest  among  them  addressed  me,  saying,  "  I  am 
much  indebted  to  my  nephew  for  procuring  me  the  honour  of 
seeing  the  noble-minded  deliverer  of  innocence  in  my  dwelling." 

Who  can  describe  my  astonishment  when  I  discovered  this  lady 
to  be  Madame  de  Sonnes,  and  that  Clementine  was  following  her. 
I  was  about  to  stammer  something  in  reply  to  her  kind  reception, 
but  was  too  much  exhausted.  The  loss  of  blood  in  the  morning, 
after  a  night  spent  in  wakeful  melancholy,  and  the  various  and 
extraordinary  sensations  to  which  I  had  been  exposed,  had  quite  ex- 
hausted me.  Clementine's  appearance  made  me  lose  sight  of  all 
around  me.  I  only  saw  her,  only  spoke  to  her,  until  forms  and 
colours  were  blended  before  my  fading  sight  in  a  confused  chaos. 

For  several  weeks  I  kept  my  bed  and  room,  a  fever  having  been 
produced  by  the  sufferings  from  my  wound.  Young  M.  de  Sonnes 
never  left  me;  he  had  all  my  property  removed  from  Bertollon's 
house ;  including  the  harp,  but  not  the  wreath.  They  did  not  know 
of  what  value  it  was  to  me. 

In  the  meanwhile  Madame  Bertollon  had  been  acquitted ;  and 
M.  de  Sonnes  told  me  that  the  fair  sufferer  had  immediately  left 
Montpellier,  and  had  gone  into  a  distant  convent.  He  likewise  gave 
me  a  letter  which  had  been  sent  for  me,  under  cover,  to  Madame  de 
Sonnes,  saying,  "  Madame  Bertollon  probably  wished  us  to  thank 
her  deliverer." 

I  took  it  with  a  trembling  hand;  as  soon  as  I  was  alone  I  perused 
it,  and  ever  since  it  has  accompanied  me  in  weal  and  woe.  Its  con- 
tents are  as  follows : — 

"Abbey  St.  G.,  at  V , 

"May  11,1762. 

"  Farewell,  Alarnontade,  these  lines,  the  first  I  ever  wrote  to  a 
man,  will  be  the  last.  I  have  left  the  stormy  life  of  the  great  world; 
the  solemn  stillness  of  sacred  walls  encloses  me ;  I  have  been  able  to 
disengage  myself,  without  regret,  from  all  that  once  was  dear  and 
indispensable ;  I  take  nothing  out  of  the  world  except  the  wounds 
which  it  inflicted. 

"  Ah  !  that  I  could  have  left  these  wounds,  and  the  remembrance 
of  the  past  behind  me.  They  cling  to  me  to  make  my  last  friend, 
Death,  the  more  desirable. 

"  In  the  bloom  of  life  the  black  veil  of  widowhood  encircles  me; 
by  it  I  show  to  men  a  mourning  which  I  feel  not,  and  conceal  that 
which  consumes  me. 

"  Yes,  Akmontade,  I  do  not  blush  even  now,  in  this  sacred  spot, 


402  ALAMONTADE. 

to  confess  what  I  never  wished  to  conceal  from  you,  that  I  loved  you. 
You  knew  it.  Alas!  you  still  know  it;  and  it  was  you  who  could 
point  the  dagger  to  a  heart  which  beat  for  you  alone  in  this  world. 

"Oh!  Alamontade,  you  have  deceived  me.  You  never  loved 
me.  I  was  not  grieved  at  my  unfortunate  husband  accusing  me  of 
the  blackest  crime.  No.  But  that  you  could  believe  me  guilty,  could 
become  my  accuser;  you,  for  whom  I  would  cheerfully  have  died, — 
that  has  withered  the  very  root  of  my  life. 

"But  no;  no  reproaches.  Noble,  and  still  beloved,  you  were 
blameless.  Dazzled  by  appearances,  you  sacrificed  feeling  to  friend- 
ship and  your  sense  of  justice.  You  wished,  at  most,  to  be  unhappy, 
not  ungrateful.  I  feel  it  fully;  the  wife  of  another  dared  not  love 
you;  and  I,  in  my  sinful  affection,  was  never  worthy  of  your  pure 
heart.  I  always  felt  this,  and  my  weakness  was  always  at  war  with 
my  inclination.  No  being  was  more  wretched  than  I ;  and  each  look 
from  you,  each  kiss  perpetuated  a  flame  which  it  ought  to  have  ex- 
tinguished. In  a  moment  of  despair  I  wished  for  a  voluntary  death 
rather  than  the  danger  of  losing  my  virtue.  Then  I  procured  the 
poison  which  I  had  destined  for  myself,  because  I  loved  you  much 
too  passionately.  This  is  the  secret  which  shame  would  have  pre- 
vented me  from  confessing  upon  the  rack.  Alas !  You,  the  source  of 
my  misfortune — it  was  you  that  interrogated  me  before  the  judges. 

"  You  have  never  loved  me,  and  my  separation  will  never  grieve 
you.  I  had  deceived  myself,  and  must  suffer  for  the  devotion  of 
my  unsuspecting  heart.  The  world  pities  me,  but  its  pity  leaves  me 
without  consolation ;  and  even  your  compassion,  my  friend,  aggra- 
vates my  pain  instead  of  mitigating  it. 

"  Within  these  cloistered  walls  I  see  the  end  of  my  short  pil- 
grimage; the  lime-tree  before  the  grated  window  of  my  ceil  throws 
its  shade  upon  the  little  spot  that  will  become  my  tomb.  This  is  my 
consolation. 

"Ah!  how  melancholy  to  stand  thus  alone  in  the  world!  and  I 
am  alone,  for  no  one  living  loves  me.  My  friends  have  forgotten  me 
already  in  their  joyous  circles,  and  my  tears  do  not  disturb  their 
merriment.  I  fade  like  the  solitary  ilower  of  the  mountain,  un- 
known and  unseen;  it  gives  and  receives  no  joy;  its  disappearance 
leaves  no  trace  behind. 

';  And  you,  the  only  one  I  loved,  receive  these  lines  as  a  farewell. 
A  breaking  heart  breathed  these  words;  a  dying  hand  traced  them. 
I  do  my  last  duty.  Do  not  disturb  my  peace  by  answering  this.  I 
shall  not  receive  any  letter,  and  will  never  sec  you.  I  will  pray  to 
God  for  your  happiness;  and  my  last  sigh  shall  be  for  you;  and,  with 
the  remembrance  of  you,  death  shall  lead  me  to  a  better  life. 

"  AMELIA  BEETOLLON." 

I  never  saw    the  noble  creature  again.     Perfectly  virtuous,  she 
sank.     But  I  never  forgot  her,  and  often  shed  tears  to  her  memory. 
Madame  de  Sonnes  and  Clementine  frequently  visited  me  during 


ALAMONTADE.  403 

my  illness,  and  treated  me  not  like  a  stranger,  but  like  a  brother,  or 
near  relative. 

Madame  de  Sonnes  was  a  noble  lady  of  lively  temperament  and 
superior  education.  She  never  seemed  to  live  for  herself,  but  only 
for  others;  being  constantly  anxious  to  afford  pleasure  and  render 
some  service,  she  knew  how  to  give  to  those,  who  were  not  above 
profiting  by  her  benevolence,  the  appearance  of  being  her  benefac- 
tors. Her  kindness  always  wore  the  stamp  of  gratitude. 

Clementine,  the  pride  of  the  family,  was  quite  worthy  of  her 
mother.  Perfect  innocence  and  constant  serenity  formed  her  cha- 
racter, and  no  one  could  approach  her  without  loving  her.  I  had 
never  seen,  never  fancied  her  so  beautiful  as  now.  Her  smile  was 
inspiring,  her  look  penetrated  to  the  soul,  her  deportment  was  the 
beau  ideal  of  grace,  and  she  was  distinguished  above  her  friends  by 
so  much  amiability  that  she  alone  was  unusually  admired.  Yet  she 
was  the  most  unassuming  of  all;  she  knew  nothing  of  all  her  ex- 
cellence, and  was  delighted  when  she  discovered  excellence  in 
others.  You  could  imagine  that  she  had  never  seen  her  own  image 
reflected. 

I  had  never  touched  my  harp  since  I  had  been  with  them ;  she 
also  was  more  reserved  than  when  at  a  distance  as  formerly ;  she 
came  less  frequently  than  any  one  else,  spoke  less  to  me  than  to 
others,  and  yet  was  most  solicitous  about  me,  watching  anxiously 
my  minutest  wish.  Only  her  eyes  expressed  her  friendly  feeling  to- 
wards me. 

While  my  love  for  her  increased  to  an  unconquerable  passion,  a 
thousand  obstacles  became  more  evident,  which  deprived  me  of  all 
hope  of  ever  being  made  happy  by  her  hand.  I  was  poor,  as  I  pos- 
sessed nothing  but  a  good  reputation  and  the  confidence  of  all  honest 
people.  But  how  little  is  that  in  the  great  world  !  I  had,  indeed, 
gained  such  general  reputation  by  Bertollon's  lawsuit,  that  the 
number  of  my  clients  increased  daily.  Still  how  long  had  I  to 
work  before  I  could  acquire  a  fortune  sufficient  even  to  approach 
Clementine.  I  saw  the  lovely  creature  every  day,  both  at  home  and 
in  the  garden,  sometimes  alone  and  sometimes  in  company.  Oh ! 
she  might  easily  perceive  how  much  I  loved  her,  for  my  silence  and 
my  converse,  my  approach  and  departure,  were  so  many  betrayers 
of  my  heart. 

I  became  daily  more  embarrassed  and  uneasy.  Absence  from  her 
was  the  only  remedy  against  inexpressible  unhappiness.  I  came  to 
the  resolution  of  taking  a  house  for  myself,  and  discovered  my  in- 
tention to  M.  de  Sonnes.  Both  he  and  his  aunt  opposed  me  in  vain; 
I  remained  imnioveable  to  their  wishes  and  entreaties.  Clementine 
alone  neither  appeared  nor  entreated,  but  she  became  more  serious, 
and,  as  I  thought,  more  sad. 

"You  are  very  cruel,"  said  Madame  de  Sonnes  one  day  to  me; 
"  what  have  we  done  to  offend  you,  that  you  wish  to  punish  us  so 


404  ALAMONTADE. 

severely  ?  You  will  take  with  you  the  peace  of  our  house,  until  now 
so  happy.  We  all  love  you,  leave  us  not,  I  beseech  you." 

All  the  reasons  that  I  could  state  to  justify  my  departure  were  in- 
sufficient to  satisfy  her.  The  most  important,  indeed  the  only  one, 
I  could  not  reveal,  and  she  saw  nothing  but  unconquerable  caprice 
in  my  refusal. 

"  Well  then,"  she  said  at  length,  "  we  must,  I  suppose,  resign 
ourselves  to  your  will;  we  are  more  indifferent  to  you  than  I 
thought.  Why  is  it  not  given  to  all  to  allow  friendship  to  strike 
root  in  the  heart  just  deep  enough  to  be  plucked  up  without  pain  at 
any  time? — Clementine  will  some  day  be  unhappy  for  this.  I  fear 
she  will  be  quite  ill." 

These  words  pained  me.  I  turned  pale  and  trembled,  faltering, 
"  Clementine  suffer  ?" 

Without  the  least  suspicion  of  what  was  passing  in  my  mind, 
Madame  de  Sonnes  said,  "  Come  with  me  to  my  room."  I  fol- 
lowed ;  and  on  opening  the  door,  she  said  to  her  daughter:  "  He 
will  not  stay,  you  perhaps  can  persuade  him."  Finding  myself 
alone  with  her,  I  approached  her. 

What  a  beautiful  picture  of  grief!  It  will  never  be  effaced 
from  my  memory.  The  terrors  of  endless  misery  which  I  have 
suffered  in  foreign  climes  have  not  been  able  to  deprive  it  of  its 
charm  and  life.  There  she  sat  in  her  plain  attire,  charming  as  a 
child  of  Eden;  a  fading  blossom  of  lilac  hung  from  her  head,  peer- 
ing forth  by  her  simple  veil,  as  though  it  were  a  symbol  of  that 
which  she  most  needed,  repose. 

When  I  approached  her,  she  looked  up,  and  her  kindly  beaming 
eyes,  filled  with  tears,  smiled  upon  me.  I  took  her  hand,  and 
kneeling  before  her,  sighed,  "  Clementine  !" 

She  made  no  answer,  nor  did  she  smile. 

"  Do  you  also  wish  me  to  stay?  Only  command  me  and  I  will 
joyfully  obey,  even  if  I  should  become  more  unhappy." 

"  More  unhappy?"  she  replied,  with  an  anxious  look;  "  Are  you 
then  unhappy  with  us !" 

"  You  do  not  know  that !  You  only  wish  to  diffuse  happiness 
around  you;  but,  Clementine,  you  accustomed  me  to  a  heaven  too 
soon.  If  sooner  or  later  I  should  have  to  lose  all,  to  lose  your  society 
(and  such  a  time  might  arrive,  Clementine),  how  would  it  then  be 
with  me  ?"  I  asked,  while  I  pressed  her  hand  against  my  throbbing 
heart. 

"  If  you  never  separate  yourself  from  us  we  shall  not  lose  you," 
she  replied. 

"  Would  to  heaven  I  might  not  leave  you  but  in  death,"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

She  looked  towards  heaven,  sighed,  and  leaning  forward,  a  burn- 
ing tear  rolled  on  my  hand. 

"  Do  you  doubt  the  constancy  of  my  friendship,"  she  said. 


ALAMONTADE.  405 

"  Have  I  a  right  to  your  friendship,  Clementine,  and  this  noble 
heart?  Alas !  will  it  not  some  day  beat  more  warmly  for  another  ? 
and  then,  Clementine,  then " 

"  Never !  Alamontade,"  she  said,  rising  quickly,  and  turning  away 
her  face,  which  was  suffused  with  a  gentle  glow.  I  rose  with  in- 
effable rapture,  clasped  her  in  my  arms,  her  bosom  heaving  with 
strong  emotion,  her  cheeks  glowing,  and  her  looks  expressing  the 
words  which  her  lips  refused  to  utter. 

Our  souls  were  united,  and  made  the  everlasting  compact.  A 
trembling  sigh  was  our  vow,  the  world  vanished  like  a  shadow,  and 
in  a  kiss  we  exchanged  life  for  life. 

Oh  !  what  bliss  has  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  infused  even  in  the 
dust,  and  how  much  has  it  sweetened  the  lot  of  the  spirit  to  be 
united  with  the  earthly. 

When  we  awoke  from  our  pure  rapture,  and  I  could  lisp  Clemen- 
tine's name,  and  she  mine,  all  nature  around  was  changed,  and 
nothing  was  left  of  the  former  world.  Every  thing  shone  more 
gloriously  and  beautifully ;  the  dull  apartment  resembled  a  temple, 
and  a  sweet  spirit  spoke  from  every  object — from  the  pictures  and 
from  the  carpet.  Even  the  whispering  of  the  trees  was  significant, 
and  in  the  waving  shadows  of  the  leaves  there  was  a  secret  expres- 
sion of  delight. 

"  I  will  remain,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  And  for  ever,"  she  added. 

A  few  hours  afterwards,  when  I  saw  Madame  de  Sonnes,  I  felt  a 
slight  timidity;  but  she  came  to  me  with  a  smile,  and  said,  "  What 
changes  have  you  worked  on  Clementine?  She  is  inspired.  She 
speaks  in  verses.  She  steps  as  light  as  a  fairy.  But  what  do  I  see, 
Alamontade  ?  Why  do  you  blush  ?  I  am  indebted  to  you.  How 
shall  I  show  my  gratitude  ?" 

Saying  this,  she  embraced  me  with  great  affection,  adding,  "  You 
are  a  noble  man.  I  know  well  the  dearest  reasons  you  had  for 
leaving  us." 

I  was  so  confused  that  I  could  not  reply. 

"  Singular  enough,  that  I,  after  all,  was  not  to  guess  your  secret. 
You  always  wished  to  be  the  wiser,  and  so  you  are,  Alamontade,  but 
not  this  time  !  Do  you  think  that  I  did  not  perceive  your  love  for 
Clementine  ?  Why  did  you  make  a  secret  of  it  to  me,  the  mother 
of  your  beloved?" 

"  Madame, "  I  faltered,  more  confused. 

"  I  think  you  would,  even  now,  deny  it  if  you  could,"  she  said,  in 
a  pleasant  tone.  "  I  stood  near  you  both  when  in  the  height  of 
your  happiness,  you  neither  saw  me  nor  the  world  around ;  and  then 
I  felt  that  I  was  not  at  all  required  to  witness  your  betrothal.  My 
daughter  lives  for  you,  make  her  happy,  and  then  I  shall  be  so 
too." 

What  kindness !  I  sank  at  her  feet,  and  kissed  her  hand  without 
being  able  to  utter  a  word. 


406  ALAMONTADE. 

"  Not  so,"  she  said,  "  a  son  must  not  kneel  before  His  mother." 

"Madame,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  give  more  than  the  most  dar- 
ing hopes  could " 

"  Not  I,"  she  replied,  "  it  is  you,  dear  friend,  who  bring  peace  to 
our  house.  I  am  indeed  a  mother,  but  I  have  no  command  over 
my  daughter's  heart.  Clementine  has  known  you  longer  than  I. 
On  your  account  she  has  refused  many  offers;  her  hopes  were 
centred  in  you.  To  complete  her  happiness  is  my  duty.  Now  I 
know  you,  I  bless  Clementine's  choice." 

"This  is  too  great  kindness,"  I  said;  "it was  indeed  my  reso- 
lution, some  day,  when  my  fortune  should  be  adequate — but  I  am 
poor,  Madame " 

"  What  has  fortune  to  do  with  this  affair?"  answered  the  noble 
lady,  "  you  have  a  respectable  competency,  and  Clementine,  beside 
having  property  of  her  own,  is  my  heiress.  The  cares  of  life  can- 
not trouble  you;  and  should  you  ever,  by  any  misfortune,  lose  all, 
you  must  retrench ;  you  possess  knowledge,  activity,  and  honesty: 
with  these  you  will  always  succeed." 

In  vain  I  stated  several  obstacles;  she  was  above  considering 
them  important. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  said,  "  that  you  loved  Clementine  without  regard 
to  wealth  I  was  well  aware.  And  indeed  the  girl  has  sufficient 
worth  of  her  own  to  be  loved  for  herself  only.  Your  delicacy, 
dear  friend,  is  therefore  not  compromised;  if  you  could  aspire  to 
her  heart  and  conquer  it,  truly  you  need  not  blush  at  her  bringing 
you  a  rich  dowry.  The  heart  which  you  possess  is  worth  more 
than  the  paltry  money  to  which  you  fear  to  aspire,  as  if  it  were  too 
much.  My  daughter  cannot  be  happier,  if  she  marries  with  a  man 
she  does  not  love,  though  he  has  a  million.  She  will  only  be  ren- 
dered happy  by  the  mind,  nobleness,  true  love,  and  solicitude  of 
her  beloved." 

"  And — "  said  Clementine,  bounding  in  with  her  charming  sim- 
plicity, taking  my  hand,  and  looking  affectionately  in  the  eyes  of 
her  kind  mother. 

"  You  have  chosen  well,"  said  Madame  de  Sonnes,  embracing  us 
both;  "you  always  are  more  solicitous  for  your  mother's  hap- 
piness than  for  your  own." 

Clementine  was  now  my  betrothed ;  the  whole  family  treated  me 
with  the  greatest  affection;  I  was  looked  upon  as  the  beloved  son, 
and  possessed  the  esteem  of  the  whole  town.  I  had  attained  my 
supreme  object,  and  it  would  be  wearisome  to  describe  the  variety 
of  my  enjoyments. 

Letters  had  arrived  from  London  to  the  Mareschale  de  Mon- 
trcval,  as  governor  of  the  province,  for  my  late  father,  together 
with  the  deeds  of  a  large  inheritance  left  him  by  a  brother  who  had 
died  in  the  West  Indies.  I  hastened  for  a  few  days  to  Nismes  to 
the  mareschale  by  his  order.  He  only  showed  me  the  letter  from 
the  London  banker  and  a  copy  of  the  will,  without  being  able  to 
give  me  any  further  particulars. 


ALAMONTADE.  407 

The  property  had  been  already  remitted  to  the  government  of 
Languedoc  by  draughts  on  the  bank  in  Paris.  This  made  me  the 
possessor  of  an  annual  income  of  4000  livrcs. 

Although  aware  that  one  of  my  uncles,  in  his  early  days,  had 
gone  to  America,  from  whence  no  news  had  ever  arrived,  I  could 
scarcely  believe  that  he  had  saved  so  large  a  fortune.  Moreover 
the  obscurity  which  enveloped  several  points  requisite  to  be 
known  in  the  account  from  London,  inspired  me  with  some  sus- 
picion as  to  this  unexpected  wealth,  considered  as  an  inheritance, 
though  it  appeared  to  me  too  large  for  a  present.  I  wrote  both 
to  the  London  banker  and  the  magistrate  of  the  province  in  Ame- 
rica, where  my  uncle  was  reported  to  have  died ;  but  never  dis- 
covered more  than  I  knew  already.  Hence  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  Madame  Bertollon  had  more  to  do  with  the  inheritance  than  my 
uncle. 

The  mareschale  appeared  almost  angry  at  my  scruples.  "  Enjoy 
your  undisputed  property  and  have  a  dozen  masses  for  uncle,"  he 
said;  "  and  that  you  may  not  live  altogether  idle  on  your  property, 
come  to  me  and  accept  the  first  situation  in  my  office.  One  con- 
dition, however,  I  must  make,  viz:  that  you  live  in  my  palace.  I 
must  see  you  daily,  my  affairs  are  numerous,  and  your  advice  will  be 
valuable  to  me." 

I  thanked  the  mareschale  for  this  honourable  distinction,  and  only 
asked  time  for  consideration  before  accepting  a  situation  to  which 
my  attainments  were  not  adequate.  He  overwhelmed  me  with 
civilities,  and  dismissed  me  with  kindly  menaces  in  case  I  did  not 
soon  resolve  to  comply  with  his  wishes. 

M.  Etienne,  my  good  old  uncle,  was  elated  with  joy  when  he 
heard  of  the  mareschale's  offer  to  me. 

"  When  you,  Colas,  came  to  me  as  a  boy,  in  your  smock-frock  and 
wooden  shoes,  and  so  stood  before  me  in  your  poverty,  I  was  then 
touched  in  my  heart,  and  heard,  as  it  were,  the  voice  of  the  spirit 
within  me,  commanding  me  to  adopt  you.  because  you  would  one 
day  be  the  guardian  angel  of  the  oppressed  believers.  Behold,  Co- 
las, the  Lord  has  done  great  things  for  you;  you  now  stand  again 
on  the  same  spot  of  the  poor  miller's  house,  and  are  a  highly  ho- 
noured, learned,  and  rich  man.  Hesitate  no  longer  to  accept  the 
offer  of  the  mareschale.  It  is  not  his  will,  no,  it  is  the  will  of  God; 
it  is  not  his  calling,  but  it  is  the  call  of  Heaven,  which  comes  to  you 
to  afford  comfort  to  the  gospel  Christians. 

My  uncle  and  his  amiable  family  (in  whose  circle  one  daughter 
was  missing,  having  been  married),  as  well  as  his  friends,  who  were 
all  secret  Protestants,  did  not  desist  in  their  most  urgent  remon- 
strances with  me  to  accept  the  situation.  I  was  obliged  partly  to 
promise  that  I  would  accept  it ;  but  it  was  still  important  to  consult 
Clementine  and  her  mother  on  the  subject. 

I  had  no  sooner  made  the  mareschale's  proposal  known  to  them, 

2  E 


408  ALAMONTADE. 

than  both  were  at  once  agreed  that  I  must  not  let  slip  an  oppor- 
tunity which  promised  me  a  larger  sphere  of  activity. 

"We  will  both  accompany  you  to  Nismes,"  said  Clementine; 
"  you  will  no  doubt  remember  the  amphitheatre  and  the  house  of 
Albertas? — but  to  live  with  the  mareschale — no,  that  will  not  do, 
you  must  refuse  that  politely." 

And  so  it  happened ;  we  went  together  to  Nismes,  I  entered  on 
my  situation,  and  I  was  permitted  to  find  recreation  in  Clementine's 
society. 

Wealth,  authority,  and  influence  over  the  affairs  of  the  province, 
prepared  for  me  the  happiest  lot  man  could  imagine.  Friendship 
and  love  completed  my  felicity ;  but  in  the  picture  of  my  life,  at 
that  period,  there  was  almost  too  much  light,  too  little  shade,  and  all 
became  a  bright,  rosy  monotony. 

The  death  of  Clementine's  grandfather  occasioned  a  family  mourn- 
ing, and  our  union  was  postponed,  out  of  respect,  for  six  months. 
But  this  could  not  darken  our  happiness ;  we  saw  each  other  daily, 
and  nothing  in  the  world  could  separate  us. 

During  the  first  few  months  the  Mareschale  de  Montreval  treated 
me  with  marked  favour.  Still  I  could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to 
approach  him  with  confidence,  or  to  return  his  kind  sentiments 
with  equal  cordiality.  His  affable  demeanour  had  something  ter- 
rible in  it,  and  in  his  smile  there  was  always  something  threatening. 
He  was  a  man  of  genius  and  judgment,  but  yet  beclouded  by  pre- 
judices which  were  sacred  to  him,  and  which  were  probably  owing  to 
his  monkish  education  in  his  early  life.  Enervated  by  former  excesses, 
he  was  sickly,  fearful  of  death,  tormented  by  dark  imaginations  and 
suspicions.  He  never  scrupled  to  commit  the  most  arbitrary  acts, 
to  be  severe  even  to  cruelty,  and  to  sacrifice  the  welfare  of  many  to 
his  caprice;  but  at  the  same  time  he  professed  to  be  very  religious. 
The  monks  were  his  favourite  associates,  and  ruled  him  without 
his  suspecting  it.  He  never  neglected  a  mass,  and  passed  for  a  most 
devout  man.  He  seldom  smiled,  was  generally  grave  and  cold ;  and 
there  was  something  commanding  in  his  calm  demeanour.  The 
more  I  knew  him,  the  more  I  privately  disliked  him.  A  man  like 
Bertollon,  without  religion,  without  God,  without  eternity,  and 
without  moral  principles,  who,  acting  only  on  the  suggestions  of 
prudence,  could  see  with  an  egotist  smile  a  whole  despairing  world 
sink  for  his  gain,  is  not  more  atrocious,  not  more  dangerous,  than  a 
man  of  the  world,  filled  with  bigotry,  like  Montreval.  The  atheist 
and  bigot,  who  do  not  acknowledge  moral  principles  and  eternal 
right,  weigh  equally  in  the  scale  of  morals,  and  are  equally  poison- 
ous to  society.  Both  without  feeling  for  the  true  dignity  of  man, 
without  regard  for  humanity,  spin  their  subtle  web  between  the  re- 
lations of  society,  and  rob  and  kill  with  honour.  Neither  fear  God,  for 
the  one  does  not  believe  in  him,  the  other  tries  to  appease  his  wrath 
with  prayers  and  masses,  and  in  the  temple  cleanses  himself  of  the 
sins  which  he  has  committed  without. 


ALAMONTADE.  409 

Even  during  the  first  days  of  my  residence  in  Nismes,  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  holy  troop  of  monks,  who  feared  my  influence  on 
the  mareschale  as  being  hostile  to  their  views.  But  they  perceived 
how  little  I  cared  for  this  influence,  and  gradually  left  me  to  myself. 
They,  however,  continued  very  friendly,  praised  my  character  to  the 
mareschale,  and  ended  by  expressing  their  pity  I  was  a  man  without 
religion. 

The  Protestants  of  Nismes  looked  upon  me  as  their  leader  and 
protector.  They  showed  me  extravagant  honours,  which  could  not 
fail  to  excite  the  suspicion  of  the  mareschale,  even  if  he  had  been  less 
suspicious  than  he  was.  They  became  bolder  in  their  words  and 
deeds.  More  than  once  I  succeeded  in  obtaining  his  pardon  for 
their  inconsiderate  acts ;  but  instead  of  being  warned  by  such  oc- 
currences, their  fanaticism,  in  frequent  combat  with  their  persecu- 
tors, and  a  secret  confidence  in  my  protection,  only  rose  higher,  and 
It  was  in  vain  for  me  to  represent  to  them  the  danger  which  they 
wantonly  prepared  for  themselves. 

"  No !"  cried  M.  Etienne,  my  uncle;  "  no,  where  God  is,  there  is 
no  danger.  Oh !  Colas,  be  not  afraid  of  men,  for  the  Lord  is  with 
you.  '  He  who  confesses  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also  confess  be- 
fore my  Father/  says  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  In  France,  the 
fDSpel  grain  of  mustard-seed  will  spring  up,  as  on  the  mountains  of 
witzerland  and  in  the  forests  of  Germany ;  but  we  want  men  like 
Zuinglius,  Calvin,  and  Luther,  who  do  not  tremble  before  the 
princes  of  this  world.  And  you,  Alamontade,  be  like  them,  and  God 
will  be  your  strong  fortress." 

Once,  when  I  was  again  obliged  to  intercede  for  the  Protestants, 
the  mareschale  asked  me,  with  a  penetrating  glance,  "  You  are  not 
a  heretic,  I  hope?"  He  refused  my  solicitations,  and  from  that 
time  became  more  reserved  towards  me. 

I  perceived  how  little  good  I  could  do  under  existing  circum- 
stances, but,  on  the  contrary,  how  injurious  my  presence  in  Nismes, 
my  office,  and  the  false  notion  of  my  influence  must  be  to  the  fol- 
lowers of  Calvin,  who  relied  upon  me  with  too  much  confidence. 
This  brought  me  to  the  resolution  of  requesting  my  discharge ;  but 
Madame  de  Sonnes  and  Clementine  prevented  me  from  doing  so  by 
their  entreaties  until  the  winter  had  passed.  The  mareschale  was  in 
Montpellier,  and  his  absence  rendered  me  happier,  but  the  Protes- 
tants still  more  daring. 

On  the  Palm  Sunday  of  the  year  1703,  the  mareschale,  who  had 
recently  returned  from  Montpellier,  invited  me  to  a  banquet  in  his 
castle,  and  though  not  feeling  quite  well  I  determined  on  going. 

In  the  morning  I  said  smiling  to  Clementine,  "  To-morrow  I  shall 
ask  for  my  discharge,  and  whatever  your  mother  may  say,  it  must 
be  done  to-morrow,  and  then,  Clementine  ! " 

"  And  then?" she  asked. 

"  We  will  no  longer  delay  our  union.  We  may  now  rejoice 

2  E  2 


410  ALAMONTADE. 

witli  propriety  since  you  have  this  day  left  off  your  black  dress. 
Therefore  in  a  week  you  will  be  my  wife.  And  then,"  I  continued, 
"  we  will  leave  this  melancholy  Nismes,  and  go  to  our  new  estate 
near  Montpellier.  Spring  is  coming  with  its  beauty;  we  must  live 
amid  rural  nature." 

And  this  was  resolved  on,  and  sealed  by  a  kiss. 

At  this  moment  I  was  called  out.  I  quitted  the  room ;  I  found 
that  my  uncle  had  come,  and  requested  a  private  interview  in  my 
own  apartment. 

"  Colas,"  said  he,  "  this  is  Palm  Sunday,  and  you  must  come 
with  me." 

"  I  cannot,"  was  my  reply,  "  for  I  am  invited  to  dine  with  the 
mareschale." 

"  And  I,"  said  he,  with  solemn  voice.  "  I  invite  you  to  the 
holy  supper.  No  grandee  of  this  earth  will  there  sit  at  table 
with  us,  but  we  shall  be  assembled  in  Jesus'  name,  and  he  will 
be  in  the  midst  of  us.  All  of  us,  some  hundreds  in  number, 
with  our  wives  and  children,  celebrate  this  morning  the  holy  sa- 
crament in  my  mill  near  the  Carmelite  gate." 

I  was  terrified,  and  exclaimed:  "  What  presumption !  Do  you 
not  know  that  the  mareschale  is  in  Nismes?" 

"  We  know  it,  and  the  Almighty  God  is  there  also." 

"  Will  you  then  designedly  plunge  yourselves  into  misery  and  a 
dungeon?  The  law  forbids  most  strictly  all  meetings  of  this  kind, 
and  threatens  death." 

"  What  law?  The  law  of  the  mortal  king?  Thou  shalt  obey 
God  rather  than  man." 

In  this  way  my^  uncle  knew  how  to  surmount  all  my  objections, 
by  biblical  quotations,  and  the  more  I  urged  the  unlawfulness  and 
danger  of  such  meetings,  and  the  more  vividly  I  described  the  pro- 
bable consequences,  the  more  zealous  he  became. 

"  When  Jesus  was  betrayed,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  when  the  trai- 
tor stood  near  him,  and  when  he  knew  they  were  preparing  to  take 
him,  then,  oh !  Colas,  surrounded  by  the  danger  of  certain  death, 
he  instituted  the  holy  sacrament.  And  should  we,  who  would  be 
the  disciples  of  Jesus,  tremble?  No,  never;  if  all  hell  were  in  arms 
it  should  not  terrify  us." 

I  could  not  bring  my  uncle  to  his  senses ;  he  called  me  an  apos- 
tate, a  hypocrite,  a  papist,  and  left  me  in  a  rage. 

I  returned  to  Clementine.  She  had  seen  my  uncle,  and  the  vex- 
ation expressed  in  all  his  gestures ;  she  inquired  the  cause  which  I 
dared  not  disclose  to  her.  Amidst  her  innocent  caresses,  my  fear 
and  uneasiness  gradually  left  me.  She  told  me  that  her  mother 
agreed  to  all  my  wishes;  this  cheered  me  still  more.  On  Clemen- 
tine's bosom  I  dreamed  of  the  peaceful  happiness  of  the  future. 

Withdrawn  from  the  tumult  of  the  world  and  its  passions,  I 
proposed  to  live  alone  with  my  young  wife,  surrounded  by  blooming 
nature,  by  love  and  friendship,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  science. 


ALAMOXTADE.  411 

How  happy  we  were  both  in  these  moments!  "  Oh!  Clemen- 
tine," said  I,  "no  throne  is  indeed  required  to  make  others  happy, 
but  only  the  will.  We  may  be  useful  even  in  a  small  and  insigni- 
ficant sphere.  We  will  visit  the  abodes  of  poverty.  I  shall  again 
defend  the  cause  of  accused  innocence,  and  a  kiss  shall  be  my 
reward  when  I  have  succeeded  in  accomplishing  any  good.  Our 
library  furnishes  an  inexhaustible  store  for  the  mind,  and  our  harp 
shall  sound  in  the  evening,  to  record  the  unenvied  felicity  of  two 
loving  souls  in  the  shade  of  our  own  grove.  The  poor  shall  eat  at  our 
table,  and  those  consoled  in  their  griefs  shall  be  our  companions. 
Surely,  Clementine,  we  shall  never  yearn  for  the  cold  splendour 
of  this  palace.  And  some  day,  you,  Clementine — the  mere  thought 
vibrates  rapture  through  me — some  day,  Clementine,  you  will  be 
a  mother.  Mother !  oh,  Clementine  1" — Her  kisses  interrupted  my 
words. 

At  this  moment  my  servant  entered  pale  as  death  and  breathless. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  I  asked. 

"  Sir,  he  faltered,  "  the  Calvinists  have  met  for  their  interdicted 
worship  in  the  mill  of  M.  Etienne  near  the  Carmelite  gate." 

I  was  much  alarmed.  Lo,  then,  it  was  betrayed.  "  And  what 
else,"  I  cried. 

The  mill  is  surrounded  by  dragoons,  and  all  within  are  prisoners. 
"  Only  think,  the  Mareschale  de  Montreval  is  there  himself.  The 
preacher  and  a  few  others  of  the  secured  heretics  endeavoured  to 
escape  through  the  window,  but  the  rnareschale  gave  the  signal,  and 
the  dragoons  fired." 

"  Fired?"  I  cried.     "  Was  any  one  killed?" 
"  Four  of  them  lie  dead  on  the  spot,"  was  the  servant's  reply. 
Without  asking  any  further  questions,  I  took  my  hat  and  stick. 
Clementine  wept  and  trembled;  she  would  not  let  me  leave  her, 
turned  pale,  and  clung  speechless  and  in  great  anguish  round  my 
neck. 

Madame  de  Sonnes  came  in.  I  told  her  of  this  frightful  occur- 
rence, and  that  I  was  resolved  to  hasten  there  in  order  to  move  the 
mareschale  to  humanity.  She  praised  my  resolution,  entreating  me 
to  fly  thither  without  delay,  and  spoke  consoling  words  to  Clemen- 
tine. 

As  I  departed,  I  looked  back,  and  saw  Clementine  pale  and 
trembling  in  her  mother's  arms.  I  returned,  kissed  her  pale  lips, 
and  hastened  away. 

When  I  reached  the  gate,  I  had  to  force  my^  way  through  a 
throng  of  people  who  stood  crowded  together,  gaping  with  mingled 
curiosity,  terror,  joy,  and  expectation. 

With  cold  shuddering  I  beheld  above  the  crowd  the  glittering 
arms  of  the  dragoons,  who  surrounded,  three  deep,  my  beloved  un- 
cle's mill.     High  above  all  I  saw  the  mareschale  on  horseback,  sur- 
rounded by  noblemen;  he  seemed  grave  and  thoughtful. 
"  My  lord!"  I  exclaimed,  when  I  reached  him. 


412  ALAMONTADE. 

He  turned  round  on  hearing  me,  looked  at  me,  and  pointing  with 
his  stick  to  the  mill,  said,  without  changing  a  feature,  "  The 
wretches  !  Now  they  are  caught." 

"  What  do  you  intend  doing,  my  lord?"  I  asked. 
"  I  have  been  considering  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour." 
"Oh!  my  lord,"  I  said;  "  it  is  true  these  infatuated  men  have 
broken  the  laws,  but  truly  they  are  more  the  objects  of  your  con- 
tempt than  your  wrath.     Be  magnanimous,  my  lord,  and  the  trans- 
gressors will  fall  at  your  feet  in  repentance,  and  never  again " 

"  What !"  interrupted  the  mareschale,  "  these  men  are  incorrigi- 
ble. They  are  rebels,  furious,  audacious  rebels.  Am  I  to  let  this 
accursed  weed  luxuriate  until  it  can  perpetrate  a  second  Michel- 
ade?"* 

"No,  my  lord,"  I  said,  seizing  his  hand,  which  was  hanging 
down;  "  you  are  too  just  to  attribute  to  these  unfortunate  persons 
cruelties  which  happened  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  ago." 

"  It  is  time  to  set  a  severe  example,"  said  the  mareschale,  who  tc 
this  moment  had  been  undecided.  He  withdrew  his  hand,  rode  £ 
few  paces  forward  without  further  noticing  me,  and  cried,  with  £ 
loud  voice,  "  Fire  the  mill !" 

Cold  with  terror,  I  staggered  after  him,  seized  the  reins  of  hi; 
horse,  and  cried,  "  For  God's  sake  mercy,  mercy." 

"  Begone,"  he  cried,  casting  a  furious  look  at  me,  and  nourishini 
his  stick  as  if  he  would  strike  me.  I  let  go  the  horse  and  fell  upoi 
my  knees  before  this  cold-blooded  demon,  crying,  "  Mercy!" 

I  heard  the  crackling  and  hissing  of  the  flames,  saw  the  thicl 
clouds  of  smoke  rolling  over  the  roof  of  the  mill,  and  then  heard  th< 
horrible  cries  of  those  enclosed  within.  I  sprang  up  again  anc 
clasped  the  mareschale's  knees,  but  God  only  knows  what  I  cried  t( 
him  in  my  anguish.  -He  heard  me  not,  he  had  no  humanity;  tin 
pious  tiger  only  looked  upon  the  burning  mill. 

Soon  my  voice  was  drowned  amidst  the  wild  roar  around,  tin 
cries  of  those  consigned  to  death,  and  the  thunder  of  the  carabines 
Those  who  endeavoured  to  escape  the  flames  were  shot  down  by  th 
dragoons. 

I  started  up  and  ran  to  the  mill.  At  this  moment  a  girl  thre^v 
herself  from  the  window.  I  caught  her  in  my  arms ;  it  was  Antonia 
my  uncle's  youngest  daughter. 

"  You  are  saved,  Antonia,"  said  I,  carrying  away  the  poor  crea 
ture  through  the  smoke  and  fire,  and  came  up,  without  knowing  it 
to  the  mareschale. 

"  The  dog !"  he  cried,  "  I  always  said  he  was  one  of  them  !" 
knew  not  he  spoke  of  me. 

"  Down  with  them  !"  he  shouted  again.     Two  dragoons  tore  th 


*  The  Calvinists  in  Nismes  had,  in  the  night  after  Michaelmas  day,  1567,  murderet 
in  their  fanatic  rage,  about  thirty  magistrates,  deans,  and  monks.  This  slaughtc 
gave  rise  to  the  word  Micheiade. 


ALAMONTADE.  413 

jirl  from  my  arms,  and  while  she  lay  on  the  ground  these 
ruffians  shot  the  innocent  creature  at  my  feet. 

"It  serves  the  cursed  heretics  right !"  said  the  mareschale  calmly, 
close  behind  me. 

"  Oh !  you  atrocious  monster  !  how  will  you  answer  for  this  deed 
before  your  and  our  king, — before  your  and  our  God?"  I  cried,  foam- 
ing with  rage. 

He  galloped  up  to  me,  gave  me  a  blow  on  my  head  with  his 
stick,  and  rode  over  me.  Half  stunned,  I  imagined  he  had  given 
orders  to  kill  me.  I  started  up  and  snatched  a  carabine  from  the 
hands  of  a  dragoon  to  defend  my  life.  No  one  dared  to  lay  hands 
on  me,  in  spite  of  the  mareschale's  exclaiming  repeatedly,  "  Secure 
him  !  secure  him  !" 

While  looking  around  me  with  consternation,  I  beheld — oh ! 
horrible  sight — I  beheld  my  uncle  with  blood  streaming  from  his 
head,  standing  over  the  corpse  of  Antonia;  I  only  recognised  him  by 
his  figure  and  clothing.  He  uttered  a  frightful  shriek  to  wards  heaven, 
and  sank  amidst  musket  shots  over  the  body  of  his  beloved  child. 

I  was  going  to  address  the  mareschale,  but  my  tongue  was  para- 
lysed. Raising  my  eyes  and  my  arm  with  the  musket  to  heaven, 
I  received  a  blow,  and  sank  down  perfectly  insensible. 

Until  then,  I  had  still  preserved  iny  faith  in  humanity,  and 
blindly  devoted  myself  to  this  belief.  Impressed  with  the  best 
works  of  the  greatest  minds  of  our  time,  I  had  lulled  myself  into 
happy  illusions.  I  had  believed  mankind  much  more  humane  and 
freer  from  the  bonds  of  barbarism.  Indeed,  I  was  the  subject  of  the 
most  lauded  monarch  of  the  world,  and  France  called  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV.  her  Golden  Age.  Alas  !  Montreval  was  one  of  his  go- 
vernors, and  the  Palm  Sunday  of  1703,  a  day  of  that  Golden  Age. 
About  200  men  were  burnt  alive  and  shot  on  that  day,  and  even  the 
infant  on  its  mother's  breast  was  not  spared.  All  the  property  of  the 
murdered  was  confiscated,  and  Montreval's  cruelty  was  crowned  with 
laurels  by  the  royal  hand. 

When  I  had  recovered  my  consciousness  and  could  discover  the 
objects  around,  I  found  myself  among  strangers,  and  my  wounded 
head  bandaged.  Now  and  then,  during  my  insensibility,  I  felt 
pain,  and  dimly  perceived  that  people  were  employed  about  me ;  but 
this  consciousness  soon  left  me,  and  I  relapsed  again  into  stupor  as 
into  a  heavy  sleep. 

"  By  my  faith  thou  hast  a  tough  life."  These  were  the  first 
words  I  heard,  as  they  were  uttered  by  a  dirty  old  fellow,  who  was 
standing  by  me  offering  medicine. 

I  did  not  see  Clementine.  I  was  in  a  narrow  chamber,  on  a  hard, 
coarse  bed. 

"  Where  am  I  then?"  I  asked. 

"  Thou  art  with  me,"  said  the  fellow.  I  now,  for  the  first  time, 
remembered  the  fatal  event  to  which  I  owed  my  present  situation. 

"  Am  1  then  a  prisoner?" 


414  ALAMONTADE. 

u  To  be  sure,  and  quite  right  too  !"  answered  my  keeper. 
"  Does  Madame  de  Sonnes  know  of  this?  Has  she  not  sent  here? 
May  I  not  see  her?" 

"  Dost  thouknow  any  one  here?     Where  does  she  live?" 
"  In  the  Rue  de  Martin.     The  house  Albertas." 
"  Thou  fool!  there  is  no  Rue  de  Martin  in  all  Marseilles.     Thou 
art  still  feverish,  I  think,  or  dost  thou  not  know  that  thou  art  in 
Marseilles?" 

"In  Marseilles?  What,  in  Marseilles  am  I?  Am  I  not  in  Nismes? 
How  long  have  I  been  here?" 

"  May  be  three  weeks.      I  can  easily  believe  that  thou,  poor 
devil,  dost  not  know  of  it.     Thou  hast  been  raving  in  a  burning 
fever  till  last  night.     Thou  must  have  a  strong  constitution.     We 
thought  we  should  have  to  bury  thee  to-day. 
"What  am  I  to  do  here?" 

When  thou   art  recovered  thou  wilt   put  on  that  dress  ;    dost 
thouknow  it?" 

"  That  is  a  galley  slave's  dress.     What?  pray  tell  me,  am  I  then 
— I  will — I  cannot  believe — have  I  been  sentenced?" 

"Perhaps  so;  only  for  twenty- nine  years  to  the  oars,  as  they  say." 
The  fellow  spoke  too  truly.  As  soon  as  I  recovered,  my  terrible 
sentence  was  announced  to  me.  I  was  condemned  to  punishment  in 
the  galleys  for  twenty-nine  years,  for  menaces,  and  murderous  at- 
tempts on  the  life  of  the  Mareschale  de  Montreval;  also  for  the 
crime  of  being  a  secret  Protestant,  and  for  having  committed  sundry 
peculations,  for  the  benefit  of  the  heretics,  in  the  office  where  I  had 
influence,  by  virtue  of  my  situation. 

I  sighed,  yet  conscious  of  my  innocence,  put  on  the  dress  without 
pain.  My  tears  flowed  only  for  the  fate  of  Clementine.  I  en- 
deavoured to  send  her  a  few  lines,  which  I  wrote  as  a  farewell,  on  a 
scrap  of  paper,  with  a  pencil  I  borrowed.  But  alas !  I  was  too  poor 
to  bribe  my  keeper;  he  took  the  paper,  read  it,  and  laughing,  tore  it 
to  pieces,  saying,  "  There  is  no  post  for  love  letters  here." 

I  was  now  put  in  chains,  and  led,  together  with  some  companions 
in  misfortune,  to  the  galley  appointed  for  us  in  the  harbour.  It  was 
a  beautiful  evening,  and  the  city  displayed  its  splendour  in  the 
radiance  of  the  setting  sun.  Amidst  the  dark  green  of  the  sloping 
mountains  surrounding  the  harbour,  which  was  crowded  with  the 
vessels  of  all  nations,  glistened  innumerable  snow-white  villas,  and 
between  the  almond  and  olive  trees  of  the  Bastides,  waved  a  thousand 
silken  pennons,  displaying  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow;  while 
through  the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  the  view  was  lost  in  the  im- 
measurable expanse  of  the  ocean. 

The  splendour  of  this  spectacle  dazzled  me,  and  filled  me  with 
melancholy.  The  shores  of  my  native  land  seemed  to  display  all 
their  glory,  only  to  make  me  feel  more  vividly  what  I  had  lost. 
All  around  breathed  joy,  I  only  was  for  ever  joyless,  and  I  saw  no 
limits  to  my  misery,  except  on  the  brink  of  the  distant  grave. 


ALAMONTADE.  415 

I  passed  the  niglit  sleepless;  with  the  early  dawn  our  galley 
left  the  harbour  and  when  the  sun  arose  above  the  ruddy  waves,  I 
lost  sight  of  Marseilles.  I  and  five  other  slaves  were  chained  to 
the  oars. 

What  a  fate  !  To  be  for  ever  separated  from  all  the  friends  and 
pkymates  of  my  youth, — to  be  separated  alas  !  from  thee,  Clemen- 
tine, cast  from  the  lap  of  wealth  upon  the  hard  bench,  forgotten  by 
all  the  happy,  dishonoured,  and  among  malefactors,  to  hear  now, 
instead  of  Clementine's  delightful  conversation,  only  the  curses  and 
ribaldry  of  low  thieves,  murderers,  smugglers,  and  robbers; — to  be 
without  books,  without  information  as  to  the  progress  of  science,  my 
mind  left  the  prey  of  itself,  without  hope; — to  hear  the  terrible 
clanking  of  my  chains  instead  of  the  magic  of  music  and  Clemen- 
tine's harp !  Surely,  death  itself  is  not  so  bitter  as  this  dreadful 
change. 

"  But  I  will  bear  it,"  said  I  to  myself ;  "  there  is  a  God,  and  my 
spirit  knows  its  divine  origin.  I  have  not  lost  myself.  I  shall  re- 
main faithful  to  virtue,  and  though  mistaken  by  the  world,  I  carry 
with  me  across  the  sea  the  esteem  which  innocent  souls  feel  for  them- 
selves. I  have  only  been  compelled  to  forsake  that  which  was  not 
my  own,  and  what  I  suffer  is  but  the  pain  of  a  body  which  hitherto 
has  not  been  accustomed  to  deny  itself." 

Thus  my  mind,  after  one  year  had  passed,  obtained  the  victory; 
thus  did  I  live  the  greater  part  of  my  life,  joyless,  and  in  solitude. 
I  have  grown  old  in  misfortune,  and  have  never  again  heard  any 
thing  of  those  who  once  loved  me.  The  only  cheerful  feelings  I 
have  had  were  when,  in  my  leisure  hours,  I  could  write  down  my 
thoughts,  and  look  back  with  tears  on  the  long  passed  paradise  of 
my  youth.  Often  during  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  oars,  grief 
recalled  to  my  mind  the  visions  of  the  happy  past.  Then  it  seemed 
as  if  Clementine  floated  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  encouraged 
me  with  her  smiles,  like  an  angel  of  consolation.  I  gazed  with 
moistened  eyes  at  the  beloved  vision,  and  felt  all  the  wounds  of  my 
heart  again  opened.  Still  I  despaired  not,  but  rowed  cheerfully  on. 

I  should  sometimes  have  taken  all  the  felicities  of  my  youth  as  the 
effect  of  imagination,  had  not  the  melancholy  farewell  letter  which 
Madame  Bertollon  had  written  from  the  convent,  by  some  chance 
remained  with  me.  I  preserved  it  with  veneration,  as  the  last 
sacred  remnant  of  what  I  formerly  possessed.  I  often  read  it  in  dis- 
tant seas,  and  on  the  burning  coasts  of  Africa;  and  I  always  drew 
from  it  unspeakable  consolation,  and  rowed  cheerfully  onwards, 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  end  of  my  life. 

Thus  nine-and-twenty  years  have  now  elapsed.     What  are  they? 

Death,  my  ardently  wished  for  friend  comes  to  release  me.  Ah ! 
sir,  you  have  shown  much  compassion  for  me  in  making  the  last 
hours  of  my  life  so  sweet.  Our  minds  are  congenial,  and  will,  per- 
haps, meet  again. 


416  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

[The  preceding  narrative,  according  to  the  author,  is  related  to 
some  friends  by  the  Abbe  Dillon,  who  was  with  Alamontade  the 
kst  days  of  his  life,  after  his  liberation  from  the  galleys. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  Alamontade  learns  that  Clementine  is 
still  living,  and  is  much  delighted  to  hear  that  she  has  remained 
faithfully  attached  to  him.  His  only  wish  and  consolation  now  is, 
that  his  days  may  be  prolonged  till  she  arrives;  but  she  does  not 
come  till  the  day  after  his  death  ;  aged  and  infirm  herself,  she 
soon  follows  him  to  the  grave. 

The  whole  of  Alamontade  is  divided  into  two  books  in  the  origi- 
nal, the  first  containing  Zschokhe's*  views  on  religion  and  moral 
philosophy.  The  following  are  the  author's  prefatory  remarks : 

"  The  following  narrative  was  composed  during  the  winter  of 
IgOl — 2,  at  Berne,  where  the  author  having  retired  from  public  af- 
fairs, wished  to  devote  his  leisure  hours  to  some  useful  purpose,  having, 
by  frequent  intercourse  become  acquainted  with  many  of  those  dis- 
eased minds  who,  being  entangled  in  doubts,  have  lost  their  God  and 
the  joys  of  life.  He  therefore  was  desirous  of  making  an  attempt 
to  raise  again  in  them  a  holy  faith  and  courage  for  virtue.  He  was 
inspired  by  the  affecting  dream  of  one  night ;  it  was  an  angelic  but 
transient  vision,  which  he  in  vain  endeavoured  to  hold  fast.  How- 
ever imperfect  the  original  narrative  was,  yet  it  went  through  four 
editions  during  the  first  ten  years  after  its  appearance.  This  circum- 
stance makes  the  author  believe  that  he  has  not  altogether  failed  in 
his  object."! 

C.  A.  F. 


THE  JESUITS'   CHURCH  IN   G . 

BY  E.  T.  W.  HOFFMANN. 

PACKED  up  in  a  wretched  post-chaise,  which  the  moths  had  left 
from  instinct — as  the  rats  left  Prospero's  vessel — I  at  last,  after  a 

break-neck  journey,  stopped  half  dislocated,  at  the  inn  in  the  G 

market-place.  All  the  possible  misfortune  that  might  have  befallen 
me  had  lighted  on  my  carriage,  which  lay,  shattered,  with  the  post- 
master at  the  last  stage.  Four  skinny,  jaded  horses,  after  a  lapse  of 
many  hours,  dragged  up  the  crazy  vehicle,  with  the  help  of  several 
peasants  and  my  own  servant;  knowing  folks  came  up,  shook  their 
heads,  and  thought  that  a  thorough  repair,  which  might  occupy  two, 
or  even  three  days  would  be  necessary.  The  place  seemed  to  me 
agreeable,  the  country  pretty,  and  yet  I  felt  not  a  little  horror-struck 

*  It  will  be  remembered  that  he  is  the  author  of  Die  Stunden  der  Andackt. 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  417 

at  the  delay  with  which  I  was  threatened.  If,  gentle  reader,  you 
were  ever  compelled  to  stop  three  days  in  a  little  town,  where  you 
did  not  know  a  soul,  but  were  forced  to  remain  a  stranger  to  every 
body,  and  if  some  deep  pain  did  not  destroy  the  inclination  for  social 
converse,  you  will  be  able  to  appreciate  my  annoyance.  In  words  alone 
does  the  spirit  of  life  manifest  itself  in  all  around  us ;  but  the  inha- 
bitants of  your  small  towns  are  like  a  secluded  orchestra,  which  has 
worked  into  its  own  way  of  playing  and  singing  by  hard  practice,  so  that 
the  tone  of  the  foreigner  is  discordant  to  their  ears,  and  at  once  puts 
them  to  silence.  I  was  walking  up  and  down  my  room,  in  a  thorough 
ill-humour,  when  it  at  once  struck  me  that  a  friend  at  home,  who 

had  once  passed  two  years  at  G ,  had  often  spoken  of  a  learned, 

clever  man,  with  whom  he  had  been  intimate.  His  name,  I  recol- 
lected, was  Aloysius  Walter,  professor  at  the  Jesuits'  college.  I 
now  resolved  to  set  out,  and  turn  my  friend's  acquaintance  to  my 
own  advantage.  They  told  me  at  the  college  that  Professor  Walter 
was  lecturing,  but  would  soon  have  finished,  and  as  they  gave  me 
the  choice  of  calling  again  or  waiting  in  the  outer  rooms,  I  chose  the 
latter.  The  cloisters,  colleges,  and  churches  of  the  Jesuits  are  every- 
where built  in  that  Italian  style  which,  based  upon  the  antique  form 
and  manner,  prefers  splendour  and  elegance  to  holy  solemnity  and 
religious  dignity.  In  this  case  the  lofty,  light,  airy  halls  were 
adorned  with  rich  architecture  and  the  images  of  saints,  which  were 
here  placed  against  the  walls,  between  Ionic  pillars,  were  singularly 
contrasted  by  the  carving  over  the  doorways,  which  invariably  re- 
presented a  dance  of  genii,  or  fruit  and  the  dainties  of  the  kitchen. 

The  professor  entered — I  reminded  him  of  my  friend,  and  claimed, 
his  hospitality  for  the  period  of  my  forced  sojourn  in  the  place.  I 
found  him  just  as  my  friend  had  described  him ;  clear  in  his  dis- 
course, acquainted  with  the  world,  in  short,  quite  in  the  style  of  the 
higher  class  priest,  who  has  been  scientifically  educated,  and  peep- 
ing over  his  breviary  into  life,  has  often  sought  to  know  what  is 
going  on  there.  When  I  found  his  room  furnished  with  modern 
elegance,  I  returned  to  my  former  reflections  in  the  halls,  and  uttered 
them  to  the  professor  aloud. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  he,  "  we  have  banished  from  our  edifices 
that  gloomy  solemnity,  that  strange  majesty  of  the  crushing  tyrant, 
who  oppresses  our  bosoms  in  Gothic  architecture,  and  causes  a  certain 
unpleasant  sensation,  and  we  have  very  properly  endowed  our  works 
with  the  lively  cheerfulness  of  the  ancients." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  does  not  that  sacred  dignity,  that  lofty  majesty  of 
Gothic  architecture  which  seems,  as  it  were,  striving  after  Heaven, 
proceed  from  the  true  spirit  of  Christianity,  which,  supersensual  it- 
self, is  directly  opposed  to  that  sensual  spirit  of  the  antique  world 
which  remains  in  the  circle  of  the  earthly?" 

The  professor  smiled:  "The  higher  kingdom,"  said  he,  "  should 
be  recognised  in  this  world,  and  this  recognition  can  be  awakened 
by  cheerful  symbols,  such  as  life — nay,  the  spirit  which  descends 


418  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

from  that  kingdom  into  earthly  life— presents.     Our  home  is  above, 
but  while  we  dwell  here,  our  kingdom  is  of  this  world  also." 

"  Ay,"  thought  I,  "in  every  thing  that  you  have  done  you  have 
indeed  shown  that  your  kingdom  is  of  this  world — nay,  of  this 
world  only;"  but  I  did  not  communicate  my  thoughts  to  Professor 
Aloysius  Walter,  who  proceeded  thus : 

.  "  What  you  say  of  the  magnificence  of  our  buildings  in  this  place 
can  only  refer  properly  to  the  pleasant  appearance  of  the  form. 
Here,  where  we  cannot  afford  marble,  and  great  masters  in  painting 
will  not  work  for  us,  we  are — in  conformity  with  the  modern  fashion 
— obliged  to  make  use  of  substitutes.  If  we  get  as  high  as  polished 
plaster  we  have  done  a  great  deal,  and  our  different  kinds  of  marble 
are  often  nothing  more  than  the  work  of  the  painter.  This  is  the 
case  in  our  church,  which,  thanks  to  the  literality  of  our  patrons, 
has  been  newly  decorated." 

I  expressed  a  desire  to  see  the  church;  the  professor  led  me  down, 
and  when  I  entered  the  Corinthian  colonnade,  which  formed  the 
nave  of  the  church,  I  felt  the  pleasing — too  pleasing  impression  of 
the  graceful  proportions.  To  the  left  of  the  principal  altar  a  lofty 
scaffolding  had  been  erected,  upon  which  a  man  stood,  who  was 
painting  over  the  walls  in  the  antique  style. 

"  Now!  how  are  you  going  on,  Berthold?"  cried  the  professor. 

The  painter  turned  round  to  us,  but  immediately  proceeded  with 
his  work,  saying  in  an  indistinct,  and  almost  inaudible  voice: 
"  Great  deal  of  trouble — crooked,  confused  stuff — no  rule  to  make 
use  of — beasts — apes — human  faces — human  faces — miserable  fool 
that  I  am !" 

These  last  words  he  cried  aloud  in  a  voice,  that  nothing  but  the 
deepest  agony  working  in  the  soul  could  produce.  I  felt  strangely 
affected; — these  words,  the  expression  of  face,  the  glance  which  he 
had  previously  cast  at  the  professor,  brought  before  my  eyes  the 
whole  struggling  life  of  an  unfortunate  artist.  The  man  could 
have  been  scarcely  more  than  forty  years  old;  his  form,  though  dis- 
figured by  the  unseemly,  dirty  costume  of  a  painter,  had  something 
in  it  indescribably  noble,  and  deep  grief  could  only  discolour  his  face, 
but  could  not  extinguish  the  fire  that  sparkled  in  his  black  eyes.  I 
asked  the  professor  for  particulars  respecting  this  painter:  "  He  is  a 
foreign  artist,"  was  the  reply,  "  who  came  here  just  at  the  time 
when  the  repair  of  the  church  had  been  resolved  upon.  He  under- 
took the  work  we  offered  him  with  pleasure,  and  indeed  his  arrival 
was  for  us  a  stroke  of  good  fortune,  since  neither  here,  nor  for  a 
great  distance  round,  could  we  find  a  painter  so  admirably  fitted  for 
all  that  we  require.  Besides,  he  is  the  most  good-natured  creature  in 
the  world,  and  we  all  love  him  heartily;  for  that  reason  he  got  on 
well  in  our  college.  Beside  giving  him  a  considerable  salary  for 
his  work,  we  board  him,  which,  by  the  way,  does  not  entail  a  very 
heavy  burden  upon  us,  for  he  is  abstemious  almost  to  excess,  though 
perhaps  it  may  accord  with  the  weakness  of  his  constitution. 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  419 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  lie  seemed  to-day  so  peevish — so  irritable." 

"That,"  replied  the  professor,  uis  owing  to  a  particular  cause. 
But  let  us  look  at  some  fine  pictures  on  the  side  altars,  which  by  a 
lucky  chance  we  obtained  some  time  ago.  There  is  only  a  single 
original — a  Dominichino — among  them,  the  rest  are  by  unknown 
masters  of  the  Italian  school;  but  if  you  are  free  from  prejudice, 
you  will  be  forced  to  confess  that  every  one  of  them  might  bear  the 
most  celebrated  name." 

I  found  it  was  exactly  as  the  professor  had  said.  Strangely 
enough,  the  only  original  was  one  of  the  weakest — if  not  the  very, 
weakest  of  the  collection,  while  the  beauty  of  many  of  the  anonymous 
pictures  had  for  me  an  irresistible  charm.  The  picture  Jon  one  of  the 
altars  was  covered  up,  and  I  asked  the  cause  of  this:  "  This  pic- 
ture," said  the  professor,  "  is  the  finest  that  we  possess, — it  is  the 
work  of  a  young  arti$t  of  modern  times — certainly  his  last,  for 
his  flight  is  checked.  At  this  time  we  are  obliged,  for  certain 
reasons,  to  cover  it  up,  but  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after,  I  shall  per- 
haps be  in  a  condition  to  show  it  you." 

I  wished  to  make  further  inquiries,  but  the  professor  hurried 
swiftly  through  the  passage,  and  that  was  enough  to  show  his  un- 
willingness to  answer  more.  We  went  back  to  the  college,  and  I 
readily  accepted  the  invitation  of  the  professor,  who  wished  me,  in  the 
afternoon,  to  go  with  him  to  some  public  gardens  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. We  returned  home  late,  a  storm  had  risen,  and  I  'had 
scarcely  reached'  my  dwelling  than  the  rain  began  to  pour  down. 
About  midnight  the  sky  cleared  up,  and  the  thunder  only  mur- 
mured in  the  distance.  Through  the  open  windows  the  warm  air, 
laden  with  scents,  entered  the  room,  and  though  I  was  weary  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  take  a  walk.  I  succeeded  in 
waking  the  surly  man-servant,  who  had  been  snoring  for  about 
two  hours  ;  and  in  showing  him  that  there  was  no  madness  in 
wall-dug  at  midnight.  Soon  I  found  myself  in  the  street.  When 
I  passed  the  Jesuits'  church,  I  was  struck  by  the  dazzling  light 
that  beamed  through  a  window.  The  little  side-door  was  ajar, 
so  I  entered  and  saw  a  wax-taper  burning  before  a  niche.  When 
I  had  come  nearer,  I  observed  that  before  this  niche  a  pack- 
thread net  had  been  spread,  behind  which  a  dark  form  was  running 
up  and  down  the  ladder,  and  seemed  to  be  designing  something  on 
the  niche.  It  was  Berthold,  who  was  accurately  tracing  the  shadow 
of  the  net  with  black  colour.  On  a  tall  easel,  by  the  ladder,  stood 
the  drawing  of  an  altar.  I  was  much  struck  at  the  ingenious  con- 
trivance. If,  gentle  reader,  you  are  in  the  least  acquainted  with  the 
noble  art  of  painting,  you  will  once  know,  without  further  ex- 
planation, the  use  of  the  net,  the  shadow  of  which  Berthold  was 
sketching.  Berthold  was  about  to  paint  a  projecting  altar  on  the 
niche,  and  that  he  might  make  a  large  copy  of  the  small  drawing 
with  due  correctness,  he  was  obliged  to  put  a  net,  in  the  usual 
manner,  over  both  the  sketch  and  the  surface  on  which  the  sketch 


420  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

was  to  be  completed.  In  this  instance  lie  had  to  paint  not  on  a 
flat  surface  but  on  a  semicircular  one  ;  and  the  correspondence 
of  the  squares  which  the  curved  lines  of  the  net  formed  on  the 
concave  surface,  with  the  straight  ones  of  the  sketch,  together 
with  accuracy  in  the  architectural  proportions  which  were  to 
be  brought  forward  in  perspective,  could  not  be  otherwise  ob- 
tained than  by  that  simple  and  ingenious  contrivance.  I  was 
cautious  enough  not  to  step  before  the  taper,  lest  I  might  betray 
myself  by  my  shadow,  but  I  stood  near  enough  to  his  side  to  ob- 
serve the  painter  closely.  He  appeared  to  me  quite  another  man. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  effect  of  the  taper,  but  his  face  had  a  good  colour, 
his  eyes  sparkled  with  internal  satisfaction,  and  when  he  had  com- 
pleted the  lines  he  placed  himself  before  the  screen,  with  his  hands 
resting  on  his  sides,  and  looking  at  his  work,  whistled  a  merry  tune. 
He  now  turned  round,  and  tore  down  the  net.  Suddenly  he  was 
struck  by  my  figure,  and  cried  aloud : 

"  Halloah!  halloah!  is  that  you,  Christian?" 

I  went  up  to  him,  explained  how  I  had  been  attracted  into  the 
church,  and  praising  the  ingenious  contrivance  of  the  net,  gave  him 
to  understand  that  I  was  but  a  connoisseur  and  practiser  of  the  noble 
art  of  painting.  Without  making  me  any  further  answer,  Berthold  said : 

"  Christian  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  sluggard.  He  was  to 
have  kept  with  me  faithfully  through  the  whole  night,  and  now  he 
is  certainly  snoring  somewhere  !  I  must  get  on  with  my  work,  for 
probably  it  will  be  bad  to  paint  here  on  the  screen  to-morrow — and 
yet  I  can  do  nothing  by  myself." 

I  offered  my  assistance,  upon  which  he  laughed  aloud,  laid  hold 
of  both  my  shoulders,  and  cried : 

"  That  is  a  capital  joke !  What  will  Christian  say,  when  he  finds 
to-morrow  that  he  is  an  ass,  and  that  I  have  done  without  him?  So, 
come  hither,  stranger,  help  me  to  build  a  little." 

He  lit  several  tapers,  we  ran  through  the  church,  pulled  together 
a  number  of  blocks  and  planks,  and  a  lofty  scaffold  was  soon  raised 
within  the  screen. 

"  Now  hand  up  quickly,"  cried  Berthold,  as  he  ascended. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  rapidity  with  which  Berthold  made  a 
large  copy  of  the  drawing;  he  drew  his  lines  boldly,  and  always 
clearly  and  correctly,  without  a  single  fault.  Having  been  accus- 
tomed to  such  matters  in  my  early  youth,  I  was  of  good  service  to 
him,  for  standing,  now  above  him,  now  below  him,  I  fixed  the  long 
rulers  at  the  points  he  indicated,  and  held  them  fast,  pointed  the 
charcoal,  and  handed  it  to  him,  and  so  on. 

"  You  are  a  capital  assistant,"  cried  Berthold,  quite  delighted. 

"  And  you,"  I  retorted,  "  are  one  of  the  best  architectural 
painters  possible.  But  tell  me,  have  you  applied  your  bold,  ready 
hand  to  no  sort  of  painting  but  this? — Pardon  the  question." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Berthold. 

"  Why,  I  mean,"  replied  I,  "  that  you  are  fit  for  something  better 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  421 

than  painting  church  walls  with  marble  pillars.  Architectural 
painting  is,  after  all,  something  subordinate;  the  historical  painter, 
the  landscape  painter,  stands  infinitely  higher.  With  them,  mind  and 
fancy,  no  longer  confined  to  the  narrow  limits  of  geometrical  lines, 
take  a  higher  flight.  Even  the  only  fantastic  part  of  your  painting, 
that  perspective,  which  deceives  the  senses,  depends  upon  accurate 
calculation,  and  the  result  therefore  is  the  product  not  of  genius,  but 
of  mathematical  speculation."  While  I  was  speaking  thus,  the 
painter  laid  aside  his  pencil,  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hand. 

"  Friend  stranger,"  he  began,  in  a  solemn,  indistinct  voice.  "  thou 
speakest  profanely,  when  thou  endeavourest  to  arrange  the  different 
branches  of  art  according  to  rank,  like  the  vassals  of  some  proud 
king.  And  still  more  profane  is  it,  when  thou  only  esteemest  those  pre- 
sumptuous fools  who,  being  deaf  to  the  clang  of  the  fetters  that 
enslave  them,  and  being  without  feeling  for  the  pressure  of  the  earthy, 
wish  to  think  themselves  free — yea,  even  to  be  gods — and  to  rule 
light  and  life  after  their  own  fashion.  Dost  thou  know  the  fable  of 
Prometheus,  who  wished  to  be  a  creator,  and  stole  fire  from  heaven 
to  animate  his  lifeless  figures?  He  succeeded;  the  forms  stalked 
living  along,  and  from  their  eyes  beamed  forth  that  heavenly  fire 
that  burned  within  them ;  but  the  impious  being,  who  had  dared  to 
attempt  the  divine,  was  condemned  to  fearful,  endless  torment,  with- 
out redemption.  The  heart  which  had  felt  the  divine,  in  which  the 
desire  after  the  unearthly  had  awakened,  was  torn  by  the  vulture,  to 
which  revenge  had  given  birth,  and  which  now  fed  upon  the  vitals 
of  the  presumptuous  one.  He  who  has  attempted  the  heavenly, 
feels  earthly  pain  for  ever." 

The  painter  stood  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections. 

"  Berthold,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  your 
art?  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  can  deem  it  presumption  to  pre- 
sent the  human  form,  either  by  painting  or  sculpture." 

"  Una,  ha,"  laughed  Berthold,  in  wild  derision;  "  child's  play  is 
no  presumption.  It  is  all  child's  play  with  those  folks,  who  com- 
fortably dip  their  pencils  into  colour-pots,  and  daub  a  canvass  with 
the  veritable  desire  of  producing  human  beings ;  but  it  always  turns 
out  as  if  some  drudge  of  nature  had  undertaken  to  make  men,  as  it 
stands  in  that  tragedy,  and  had  failed.  Such  as  those  are  no  presump- 
tuous sinners,  but  poor  innocent  fools.  But  if  one  strives  to  attain  the 
highest,  not  the  mere  sensual,  like  Titian — no,  the  highest  in  divine 
nature,  the  Promethean  spark  in  man — that  is  a  precipice — a  narrow 
edge  on  which  we  stand — the  abyss  is  open  I  The  bold  sailor  soars 
above  him,  and  a  devilish  deceit  lets  him  perceive  that  below,  which 
he  wished  to  see  above  the  stars."  The  painter  uttered  a  deep  sigh, 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  and  then  looked  upwards.  *'  But 
why  do  I  talk  all  this  mad  stuff  to  you,  comrade,  and  leave  off 
painting  ?  Look  here,  mate,  this  is  what  I  call  well  and  honestly 
drawn.  How  noble  is  the  rule  !  All  the  lines  combine  to  a  deter- 
mined end — a  determined,  clearly  conceived  effect.  Only  that  which 


422  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

is  done  by  measure  is  purely  human ; — what  is  beyond,  is  of  evil. 
Can  we  not  conceive  that  the  Deity  has  expressly  created  us,  to 
manage  for  his  own  good  purpose  that  which  is  exhibited  according 
to  measured,  appreciable  rules ; — in  a  word,  the  purely  commeasurable, 
just  as  we,  in  our  turn  build  saw-mills  and  spinning-machines,  as  the 
mechanical  superintendents  of  our  wants?  Professor  Walter  lately 
maintained,  that  certain  beasts  were  merely  created  to  be  eaten  by 
others,  and  that  this  in  the  end,  conduced  to  our  own  utility.  Thus, 
for  example,  cats,  he  said,  had  an  innate  propensity  to  devour  mice, 
that  they  might  not  nibble  the  sugar  placed  ready  for  our  breakfast. 
And  the  professor  was  right  in  the  end; — animals,  and  we  ourselves 
are  but  well-ordered  machines,  made  to  work  up  and  knead  certain 
materials  for  the  table  of  the  unknown  king. — Come,  come,  mate,  hand 
me  up  the  pots.  I  prepared  all  the  tones  yesterday  by  daylight,  that 
this  candlelight  might  not  deceive  us,  and  they  all  stand  numbered 
in  yonder  corner.  Hand  me  up  No.  1,  young  friend.  Gray  with 
gray ! — What  would  dry,  weary  life  be,  if  the  Lord  of  Heaven  had 
not  put  so  many  motley  playthings  into  our  hands.  He  who  demeans 
himself  well  does  not,  like  the  curious  boy,  try  to  break  the  box 
from  which  the  music  comes  when  he  turns  the  handle.  It  is  just 
natural,  they  say,  that  it  sounds  inside,  for  I  turn  the  handle.  Be- 
cause I  have  drawn  this  intellective  correctly  according  to  the  point 
of  view,  I  know  that  it  will  have  the  effect  of  actual  sculpture  on 
the  spectator. — Now,  boy,  reach  me  No.  2,  now  I  paint  in  colours 
that  are  toned  down  according  to  rule,  and  it  appears  receding  five 
yards.  All  that  I  know  well  enough — oh,  we  are  amazingly  clever  ! 
How  is  it  that  objects  diminish  in  the  distance  ?  This  one  stupid 
question  of  a  Chinese  could  put  to  confusion  Professor  Eytelwein 
himself;  but  he  could  help  himself  out  with  the  music,-box,  and  say 
he  had  often  turned  the  handle,  and  always  experienced  the  same 
result. — Violet,  No.  2,  youngster !  Another  rule,  and  a  thick  washed- 
out  brush  !  Ah,  what  is  all  our  striving  and  struggling  after  the 
higher,  but  the  helpless,  unconscious  act  of  an  infant  who  hurts  the 
nurse  that  feeds  him.  Violet,  No.  2  !  Quick,  young  man !  The  ideal 
is  an  evil,  lying  dream,  produced  by  fermented  blood.  Take  away 
the  pot,  young  man,  I  am  coming  down.  The  devil  lures  us  with 
puppets,  to  which  he  glues  angel's  wings." 

I  am  unable  to  repeat  literally,  what  Berthold  said,  while  he  went 
on  painting  rapidly,  and  treated  me  only  as  his  fag.  He  went  on 
in  the  tone  in  which  he  had  begun,  scoffing  at  the  limited  nature  of 
every  human  effort.  Ah,  I  was  inspecting  the  depth  of  a  mind 
that  had  received  its  death-wound,  and  that  only  uttered  its  com- 
plaints in  bitter  irony.  Morning  dawned,  and  the  glimmer  of  the 
taper  grew  pale  before  the  entrance  of  sunlight.  Berthold  painted 
on  zealously,  but  he  became  more  and  more  silent,  and  only  single 
sounds — ultimately,  only  sighs — escaped  his  burdened  breast.  He 
had  planned  the  entire  altar  with  all  its  gradation  of  colour,  and 
even  now  the  picture  stood  out  quite  prominently. 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  423 

"  Admirable !  admirable !"  I  cried  out  with,  delight. 

"Do  you  think,"  said  Berthold,  faintly,  "  that  I  shall  make 
something  of  it?  I  at  least  took  great  pains  to  make  my  drawing 
correct,  but  now  I  can  do  no  more." 

"  No,  no,  not  a  stroke  more,  dear  Berthold,"  I  exclaimed,  "  it 
is  almost  incredible  how  you  have  made  so  much  progress  in 
such  a  work  within  a  few  hours.  But  you  exert  yourself  too  much, 
and  are  quite  lavish  of  your  power." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Berthold,  "these  are  my  happiest  hours.  Per- 
haps I  talked  too  much,  but  it  is  only  in  words  that  the  pain  which 
consumes  my  vitals  finds  a  vent." 

"  You  seem  to  feel  very  unhappy,  my  poor  friend,"  said  I,  "  some 
frightful  event  has  had  an  evil  influence  on  your  life." 

The  painter  slowly  took  his  materials  into  the  chapel,  extin- 
guished the  lights,  and  coming  up  to  me,  seized  my  hand,  and  said, 
in  a  faltering  voice,  "  Could  you  be  cheerful,  nay,  could  you  have 
one  quiet  moment,  if  you  were  conscious  of  a  fearful,  irreparable 
crime?" 

I  stood  perfectly  amazed.  The  bright  sunbeams  fell  on  the 
painter's  pallid,  agitated  countenance,  and  he  almost  looked  like  a 
spectre  as  he  staggered  through  the  little  door  into  the  interior  of 
the  college. 

I  could  scarcely  wait  for  the  hour  on  the  following  day,  when 
Professor  Walter  had  appointed  to  see  me.  I  told  him  the  whole 
affair  of  the  previous  night,  which  had  excited  me  not  a  little;  I 
described  in  the  most  lively  colours  the  strange  conduct  of  the 
painter,  and  did  not  suppress  a  word  that  he  had  uttered — not  even 
those,  which  related  to  himself.  But  the  more  I  hoped  for  the  pro- 
fessor's sympathy,  the  more  indifferent  he  appeared ;  nay,  he  smiled 
upon  me  in  a  most  unpleasant  manner  when  I  continued  to  talk  of 
Berthold,  and  pressed  him  to  tell  me  all  he  knew  about  this  unfor- 
tunate man. 

"  He  is  a  strange  creature  that  painter,"  said  the  professor, 
"mild,  good-tempered,  sober,  industrious,  as  I  told  you  before, 
but  weak  in  his  intellect.  If  he  had  been  otherwise  he  would  never 
have  descended,  even  though  he  did  commit  a  crime,  from  a  great 
historical  painter,  to  a  poor  dauber  of  walls." 

This  expression,  "  dauber  of  walls,"  annoyed  me  as  much  as  the 
professor's  general  indifference.  I  tried  to  convince  him  that  Ber- 
thold was  even  now  a  most  estimable  artist,  and  deserving  of  the 
highest,  the  most  active  sympathy. 

"  Well,"  said  the  professor  at  last,  "  since  you  take  so  much  in- 
terest in  Berthold  you  shall  hear  all  that  I  know  of  him,  and  that  is 
not  a  little.  By  way  of  introduction  we  will  go  into  the  church  at 
once.  As  Berthold  has  worked  hard  throughout  the  night  he  will 
rest  during  the  forenoon.  If  we  found  him  in  the  church  my 
design  would  fail." 

2  F 


424  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

AVc  went  to  the  church,  the  professor  had  the  cloth  removed  from 
the  covered  picture,  and  a  work  of  the  most  magical  splendour, 
such  as  I  had  never  seen,  was  revealed  to  me.  The  composition 
was  in  the  style  of  Raffaelle,  simple  and  of  heavenly  sublimity. 
Mary  and  Elizabeth  were  sitting  on  the  grass  in  a  beautiful  garden ; 
the  children,  Jesus  and  John,  were  before  them,  playing  with 
flowers,  and  in  the  background  towards  the  side,  a  male  figure  was 
praying.  Mary's  lovely,  heavenly  face,  the  dignity  and  elevation  of 
her  entire  figure,  filled  me  with  astonishment  and  the  deepest  ad- 
miration. She  was  beautiful,  more  beautiful  than  an  earthly  woman, 
and  her  glance  indicated  the  higher  power  of  the  mother  of  God, 
like  that  of  Raffaelle's  Mary  in  the  Dresden  Gallery.  Ah !  was  not 
the  deepest  thirst  for  eternity  awakened  perforce  in  the  human  heart, 
by  those  wondrous  eyes  round  which  a  deep  shadow  was  floating? 
Did  not  those  soft,  half-opened  lips  speak  in  consolatory  language,  as 
in  the  sweet  melody  of  angels,  of  the  infinite  happiness  of  heaven  ?  An 
indescribable  feeling  impelled  me  to  cast  myself  down  in  the  dust 
before  her,  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  I  had  lost  the  power  of  speech, 
and  could  not  turn  my  eyes  from  the  incomparable  figure.  Only 
Mary  and  the  children  were  quite  finished;  the  last  touch  had  not, 
apparently,  been  given  to  the  figure  of  Elizabeth,  and  the  praying 
man  was  not  yet  painted  over.  Approaching  nearer,  I  perceived  in 
this  man  the  features  of  Berthold,  and  already  anticipated  in  my 
mind  what  the  professor  presently  said:  "  This  picture  is  Berthold's 

last   work.     We  got  it  several   years  ago  from  N ,  in  Upper 

Silesia,  where  one  of  our  colleagues  bought  it  at  an  auction. 
Although  unfinished,  we  had  it  fitted  in  here,  in  the  place  of  the 
wretched  altar-piece  which  we  had  formerly.  When  Berthold  first 
came  and  saw  the  picture,  he  uttered  a  loud  shriek  and  fell  sense- 
less to  the  ground.  Afterwards  he  carefully  avoided  looking  at  it, 
and  told  me  in  confidence  that  it  was  his  last  work  of  this  class.  I 
hoped  that  I  should  gradually  persuade  him  to  finish  it,  but  every 
proposal  of  the  sort  he  rejected  with  the  utmost  abhorrence,  and  to 
keep  him  in  good  spirits,  and  in  the  full  possession  of  his  powers,  I 
was  forced  to  cover  up  the  picture  so  long  as  he  remained  in  the 
church.  If  it  met  his  eye  only  by  accident,  he  ran  as  if  impelled 
by  some  irresistible  power,  cast  himself  sobbing  on  the  ground,  a 
paroxysm  seized  him,  and  he  was  for  many  days  quite  unfit  for  work." 

"  Poor  unfortunate  man!"  exclaimed  I,  "  how  did  the  hand  of 
the  devil  take  such  a  deadly  hold  of  thy  life?" 

"  Oh !"  cried  the  professor,  "  the  hand  as  well  as  the  arm  grew  in 
his  own  body:  he  was  his  own  demon,  his  own  Lucifer,  flashing  the 
infernal  torch  upon  his  own  life.  That  is  plain  enough  to  those 
who  know  his  biography." 

I  entreated  the  professor  at  once  to  tell  me  all  that  he  knew 
about  the  life  of  the  unfortunate  painter. 

"  That  would  be  much  too  prolix,  and  cost  too  much  breath," 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  425 

replied  the  professor.  "  Do  not  let  us  spoil  the  cheerful  day  by 
such  gloomy  stuff.  We  will  take  breakfast  and  then  go  to  the 
mill,  where  an  excellent  dinner  awaits  us." 

I  did  not  desist  from  my  requests  to  the  professor,  and  after  much 
talk  on  both  sides,  it  came  out  that,  immediately  after  Berth  old's  ar- 
rival, a  youth  who  was  studying  at  the  college,  devotedly  attached 
himself  to  him,  and  that  Berthold,  by  degrees,  communicated  the 
particulars  of  his  life  to  this  youth,  who  had  carefully  written  them 
down,  and  had  given  the  manuscript  to  the  professor. 

"  He  was,"  said  the  professor,  "  much  such  an  enthusiast  as — par- 
don me — you  are !  But  this  work  of  writing  down  the  strange 
events  in  the  painter's  life  served  him  as  a  capital  exercise  for 
style.3; 

With  much  trouble  I  obtained  from  the  professor  a  promise  that 
he  would  lend  me  the  manuscript  after  the  close  of  our  pleasure- 
party.  Whether  it  proceeded  from  my  own  violent  curiosity,  or 
whether  it  was  the  professor's  fault,  I  never  felt  more  uneasy  than 
during  this  day.  The  icy  coldness  of  the  professor  when  speaking 
of  Berthold  had  been  repulsive  to  me,  but  his  conversation  with  his 
colleagues  who  participated  in  the  repast,  convinced  me,  that  in 
spite  of  all  his  learning,  and  all  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  he  had 
no  sense  for  the  sublime,  and  was  as  gross  a  materialist  as  possible. 
The  system  of  consuming  and  being  consumed,  as  Berthold  called  it, 
he  had  actually  adopted.  All  mental  endeavours,  all  the  powers  of 
creation  and  invention,  he  deduced  from  certain  states  of  the  sto- 
mach and  the  entrails,  uttering  on  this  subject  all  sorts  of  mon- 
strous conceits.  Thus,  for  instance,  he  very  seriously  maintained 
that  every  thought  proceeded  from  the  marriage  of  two  fibres  in 
the  human  brain.  I  perceived  how  the  professor,  with  all  this  ab- 
surd stuff,  must  torment  poor  Berthold,  who,  in  the  irony  of  despair, 
attacked  the  notion  of  any  favourable  influence  from  a  higher 
region,  and  how  he  must  plunge  pointed  daggers  into  wounds  still 
fresh  and  bleeding.  The  evening  at  last  came,  and  the  professor 
put  a  few  sheets  of  manuscript  into  my  hand,  with  the  words: 
"  There,  my  dear  enthusiast,  is  the  student's  handy  work.  It  is 
not  badly  written  but  very  odd,  and  the  author,  against  all  rule, 
thrusts  in  discourses  of  the  painter,  word  for  word,  without  any 
notice  to  the  reader.  I  will  make  you  a  present  of  the  work,  of 
which  I  have  a  right  to  dispose  by  virtue  of  my  office,  for  I  know 
perfectly  well  that  you  are  no  writer.  The  author  of  the  "  Fan- 
tasie-Stiicke  inCallot's  Manier,"*  (fancy  pieces  in  the  style  of  Callot) 
would  have  cut  it  according  to  his  own  mad  fashion,  and  would 
have  printed  it  at  once.  I  have  nothing  of  the  sort  to  expect  from 
you." 

Professor  Aloysius  Walter  did  not  know  that  he  really  stood  before 

*  These  "  Fantasie-Stucke  "  are  a  collection  of  tales,  &c.,  by  Hoffmann,  and  purport 
to  be  leaves  from  the  journal  of  a  travelling  enthusiast.  J.  O. 

2  F2 


426  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

the  "  travelling  enthusiast,"  although  he  might  have  found  it  out,  and 
thus,  gentle  reader,  I  am  enabled  to  give  you  the  Jesuit- student's 
short  history  of  the  painter,  Berthold.  It  thoroughly  explains  the 
manner  in  which  he  conducted  himself  in  my  presence,  and  thou, 
reader,  wilt  be  able  to  see  how  the  strange  spirit  of  destiny  often 
plunges  us  into  destructive  error. 


"  *  Only  let  your  son  make  up  his  mind  and  go  to  Italy.  He  is 
already  a  clever  artist,  and  here  at  D there  is  no  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity for  studying  after  excellent  originals  in  every  class,  but  here 
he  must  not  stay.  The  free  life  of  an  artist  must  dawn  upon  him  in 
the  cheerful  land  of  art,  his  studies  will  there  first  take  a  living  form, 
and  produce  individual  thoughts.  Mere  copying  is  now  of  no  fur- 
ther use  to  him.  The  growing  plant  requires  more  sun  to  thrive 
and  bring  forth  its  blossoms  and  fruit.  Your  son  has  a  really  artis- 
tical  temperament,  so  you  may  be  perfectly  satisfied  about  all  the 
rest!'  Thus  said  the  old  painter,  Stephan  Birkner,  to  Berthold's 
parents.  The  latter  scraped  together  all  that  their  slender  means 
would  allow  to  fit  out. the  youth  for  his  long  journey,  and  thus  was 
Berthold's  warmest  wish — that  of  travelling  to  Italy — accomplished. 

"  '  When  Birkner  told  me  the  decision  of  my  parents,  I  literally 
jumped  for  joy.  I  wandered  about  as  in  a  dream  till  the  time  of  my 
departure.  I  was  not  able  to  make  a  single  stroke  with  my  pencil 
in  the  gallery.  I  made  the  inspector,  and  all  the  artists  who  had 
been  to  Italy,  tell  me  of  the  land  where  art  flourishes.  The  day  and 
hour  at  length  arrived.  The  parting  from  my  parents  was  painful, 
as  they  felt  a  gloomy  presentiment  that  they  should  not  see  mo 
again.  Even  my  father,  generally  a  firm,  resolute  man,  had  diffi- 
culty in  containing  his  feelings.  '  Italy !  you  will  see  Italy !'  cried 
my  brother  artists,  and  then  my  wish  shone  forth  with  greater  power, 
from  my  deep  melancholy,  and  I  stepped  boldly  forth,  for  the  path 
of  an  artist  seemed  to  begin  even  at  my  parents'  door.' 

"  Berthold  had  studied  every  department  of  painting,  but  he  had 
especially  devoted  himself  to  landscapes,  at  which  he  worked  with 
ardent  love  and  zeal.  In  Rome  he  expected  to  find  abundant  nur- 
ture for  this  branch  of  art,  but  it  proved  otherwise.  The  very  circle 
of  artists  and  dilettanti  in  which  he  moved,  continually  told  him  that 
the  historical  painter  alone  stood  on  the  highest  point,  and  that  all 
the  rest  were  but  subordinate.  He  was  advised,  if  he  wished  to  be- 
come an  artist  of  eminence,  to  abandon  at  once  the  department  he 
had  chosen,  and  to  devote  himself  to  the  higher  branch;  and  this 
advice,  coupled  with  the  novel  impression  which  Raffaelle's  mighty 
frescoes  in  the  Vatican  had  made  upon  him,  determined  him  to  give 
up  landscape  painting  altogether.  He  sketched  after  the  Rafiaelles, 
and  he  copied  small  oil  paintings  by  other  celebrated  masters.  All 
these  things  were  very  cleverly  done  by  his  practised  hand;  but  he 


THE  JESUITS*  CHURCH  IN  G .  427 

plainly  felt  that  the  praise  of  the  artists  and  dilettanti  should,  only 
solace  him,  and  encourage  him  to  further  efforts.  He  himself  saw 
that  his  sketches  and  copies  wanted  all  the  fire  of  the  originals.  Raf- 
faelle's  and  Correggio's  heavenly  thoughts — so  he  thought — inspired 
him  to  creations  of  his  own,  but  he  wished  to  hold  them  fast  in  his 
fancy,  they  vanished  as  in  a  mist,  and  all  that  he  sketched  was  like 
every  obscure,  confused  thought,  without  motion  and  significance. 
During  his  vain  endeavours  deep  melancholy  took  possession  of  his 
soul,  and  he  often  escaped  from  his  friends,  privately  to  sketch  and 
paint  in  the  vicinity  of  Rome,  groups  of  trees — single  pieces  of  land- 
scape. But  even  these  attempts  were  less  successful  than  formerly; 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  doubted  the  truth  of  his  calling 
as  an  artist.  His  proudest  hopes  seemed  on  the  point  of  vanishing. 
4  Ah,  my  revered  friend  and  instructor,'  wrote  Bcrthold  to  Birkner, 
*  you  gave  me  credit  for  great  things ;  but  here,  when  a  light  should 
have  risen  in  my  soul.  I  have  learned  that  that  which  you  termed  real 
artistical  genius  was  nothing  but  a  sort  of  talent — mere  dexterity  of 
hand.  Tell  my  parents  that  I  shall  soon  return,  and  learn  some 
trade  that  I  may  get  my  living,'  &c.  Birkner  wrote  back:  '  Oh! 
would  I  could  be  with  you,  my  son,  to  support  you  in  your  depres- 
sion. It  is  your  very  doubts  that  prove  your  calling  as  an  artist. 
He  who  with  steady  immoveablc  confidence  in  his  powers  believes 
that  he  will  always  progress,  is  a  blind  fool,  who  only  deceives  him- 
self, for  he  wants  the  proper  spur  to  endeavour,  which  only  consists 
in  the  thought  of  deficiency.  Persevere  and  you  will  soon  gain 
strength;  and  then,  no  longer  fettered  by  the  opinion  or  the  advice 
of  friends,  who  are,  perhaps,  unable  to  appreciate  you,  you  will 
quietly  pursue  the  path  which  your  own  nature  has  designed  for  you. 
It  will  then  be  left  to  your  own  decision  whether  you  become  a 
painter  of  landscapes  or  historical  pieces,  and  you  will  cease  to  think 
of  a  hostile  separation  of  the  branches  of  one  trunk.' 

"  It  happened  that  about  the  time  when  Berthold  received  this 
letter  of  consolation  from  his  old  friend  and  instructor,  Philip  Hack- 
ert's  fame  became  widely  extended  in  Rome.  Some  of  the  paint- 
ings which  he  had  exhibited,  and  which  were  distinguished  by  won- 
derful grace  and  clearness,  proved  the  real  genius  of  the  artist,  and 
even  the  historical  painters  admitted  that  there  was  much  greatness 
and  excellence  in  this  pure  imitation  of  nature.  Berthold  breathed 
again;  he  no  more  heard  his  favourite  art  treated  with  contempt,  he 
saw  a  man  who  pursued  it  honoured  and  elevated,  and,  as  it  were, 
a  spark  fell  on  his  soul  that  he  must  travel  to  Naples  and  study  under 
Hackert.  In  high  spirits  he  wrote  to  Birkner,  and  his  parents,  that 
he  had  now,  after  a  hard  struggle,  discovered  the  right  way,  and 
hoped  to  become  a  clever  artist  in  his  own  style.  The  honest  Ger- 
man, Hackert,  received  his  German  pupil  with  great  kindness,  and 
the  latter  soon  made  great  efforts  to  follow  his  master.  Berthold  at- 
tained great  facility  in  giving  faithful  representations  of  the  different 
kinds  of  trees  and  shrubs,  and  was  not  a  little  successful  in  those 


428  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

misty  effects,  which  are  to  be  found  in  Hackert's  pictures.  He  thus 
gained  great  praise,  but  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  something  was  want- 
ing both  in  his  own  and  his  master's  landscapes; — something  to 
which  he  could  not  give  a  name,  and  which  was  nevertheless  plainly 
apparent  in  the  pictures  by  Claude  Lorraine,  and  the  wild  landscapes 
of  Salvator  Rosa.  Soon  he  felt  a  want  of  confidence  in  his  in- 
structor, and  he  felt  particularly  dispirited  when  Hackert,  with  un- 
wearied exertion,  painted  some  dead  game  which  the  king  had  sent 
him.  Soon,  however,  he  conquered  such  presumptuous  thoughts — 
as  he  considered  them — and  went  on  with  virtuous  resignation  and 
true  German  industry >  following  the  pattern  of  his  master,  so  that 
in  a  short  time  he  could  nearly  equal  him.  At  Hackert's  own  sug- 
gestion he  sent  a  large  landscape,  which  he  had  faithfully  copied 
from  nature,  to  an  exhibition,  which  was  chiefly  to  consist  of  land- 
scapes and  pieces  of  still-life  in  the  Hackert  style.  All  the  artists 
and  connoisseurs  admired  the  young  man's  faithful,  neatly  executed 
works,  and  praised  him  aloud.  There  was  only  an  elderly  strangely- 
attired  man  who  did  not  say  a  word  about  Hackert's  pictures,  but 
smiled,  significantly,  whenever  the  multitude  broke  out  into  extra- 
vagant praises.  Berthold  perceived  plainly  enough  that  this  stranger, 
when  he  stood  before  his  landscape,  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of 
the  deepest  pity,  and  was  then  about  to  retire.  Being  somewhat 
elevated  by  the  general  praise  which  he  had  received,  Berthold  could 
not  help  feeling  indignant  with  the  stranger.  He  went  up  to  him, 
and  speaking  more  sharply  than  was  necessary,  said :  '  You  do  not 
seem  satisfied  with  the  picture,  sir,  although  I  must  say  there  are 
excellent  artists  and  connoisseurs  who  do  not  think  it  so  bad.  Pray 
tell  me  where  the  fault  lies  that  I  may  improve  the  picture  accord- 
ing to  your  kind  suggestion.'  The  stranger  cast  a  keen  glance  at 
Berthold,  and  said,  very  seriously :  '  Young  man,  a  great  deal  might 
be  made  out  of  you.'  Berthold  felt  deeply  horrified  at  the  glance 
and  words  of  this  man;  he  had  not  courage  to  say  any  thing  more, 
or  to  follow  him,  when  he  slowly  stalked  out  of  the  saloon.  Hackert 
soon  came  in  himself,  and  Berthold  hastened  to  tell  him  of  his  meet- 
ing with  this  strange  man.  '  Ha !'  said  Hackert,  smiling,  '  do  not 
take  that  to  heart.  That  is  a  crabbed  old  man,  who  grumbles  at 
every  thing,  and  is  pleased  at  nothing;  I  met  him  in  the  ante-room. 
He  was  born  of  Greek  parents,  in  Malta,  and  is  a  rich,  queer  old  fel- 
low, and  no  bad  painter.  All  that  he  does  has  a  fantastic  appear- 
ance, and  this  proceeds  from  the  absurd  notion  he  has  about  art,  and 
from  the  fact  that  he  has  constructed  a  system  which  is  utterly  worth- 
less. I  know  well  enough  that  he  has  no  opinion  of  me,  which  I 
readily  pardon  in  him,  since  he  cannot  throw  any  doubt  on  my  ho- 
nourably acquired  fame.'  Berthold  had  felt  as  if  the  Maltese  had 
touched  a  sore  place  in  his  soul,  like  a  beneficent  physician,  only 
for  the  purpose  of  probing  it  and  healing  it ;  but  he  soon  drove  this 
notion  from  his  mind,  and  worked  on  happily  as  he  had  done  before. 
';  The  success  of  this  large  picture,  which  was  universally  admired, 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  429 

gave  him  courage  to  begin  a  companion  to  it.  Hackert  himself  se- 
lected one  of  the  most  lovely  spots  in  the  gorgeous  vicinity  of  Naples ; 
and,  as  the  first  picture  had  represented  sunset,  this  landscape  was  to 
show  the  effect  of  sunrise.  He  had  a  number  of  strange  trees,  a 
number  of  vineyards,  and,  above  all,  a  good  deal  of  mist  to  paint. 

"  Berthold  was  sitting  on  a  large  flat  stone,  in  this  very  spot,  com- 
pleting the  sketch  of  the  great  picture  after  nature.  '  Bravo — well 
done !'  said  a  voice  near  him.  He  looked  up.  The  Maltese  was 
viewing  his  work,  and  added,  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  '  You  have  only 
forgotten  one  thing,  my  dear  young  friend.  Only  look  yonder,  at 
the  wall  of  the  distant  vineyard ;  the  one  covered  with  green  tendrils. 
The  door  is  half-open,  don't  you  see?  You  must  represent  that  with 
its  proper  shading.  The  half-open  door  makes  a  surprising  effect !' 

"  '  You  are  joking,  sir,'  exclaimed  Berthold,  '  and  without  reason. 
Such  accidental  circumstances  are  by  no  means  so  contemptible  as 
you  imagine,  and  for  that  very  reason  my  master  loves  to  employ 
them.  Only  recollect  the  suspended  white  cloth  in  the  landscape  of 
one  of  the  Dutch  painters,  that  could  not  be  omitted  without  marr- 
ing the  general  effect.  You,  however,  seem  to  be  no  friend  to 
landscape  painting  in  general ;  and,  as  I  have  given  myself  up  to  it 
with  heart  and  soul,  I  beg  of  you  to  let  me  go  on  working  in  quiet.' 

"*  You  are  much  mistaken,  young  man,'  said  the  Maltese.      'I 
tell  you  again  that  a  good  deal  might  be  made  of  you,  for  your  works 
visibly  prove  an  unwearied  endeavour  to  attain  the  highest ;  but  that, 
unfortunately,  you  will  never  attain,  since  the  path  that  you  have 
taken  does  not  lead  to  it.     Only  mark  what  I  tell  you.     Perhaps  I 
may  succeed  in  kindling  that  flame  in  your  soul,  which  you,  senseless 
as  you  are,  are  endeavouring  to  smother,  and  in  making  it  flash  up 
brightly,  so  as  to  enlighten  you.     Then  you  will  be  able  to  recognise 
the  real  spirit  that  animates  you.     Do  you  think  I  am  so  foolish  as 
to  place  the  landscape  lower  in  rank  than  the  historical  painting,  and 
that  I  do  not  recognise  the  common  goal  after  which  the  painters  of 
both  classes  should  strive  ?    The  apprehension  of  nature  in  the  deepest 
import  of  that  higher  sense,  which  kindles  all  beings   to  a  higher 
life,  that  is  the  sacred  end  of  all  art.     Can  the  mere  dim  copying  of 
nature  lead  to  this?     How  poor,  how  stiff  and  forced,  is  the  appear- 
ance of  a  manuscript  copied  from  another  in  some  foreign  language, 
which  the  copyist  does  not  understand,  and   is,  therefore,  unable   to 
give  the  strokes,  which  he  laboriously  imitates,  their  proper  signifi- 
cance.    Thus  your  master's  landscapes  are  correct  copies  of  an  ori- 
ginal author  in  a  language  which  is  strange  to  him.     The  initiated 
artist  hears  the  voice  of  nature,  which  from  trees,    hedges,  flowers, 
mountains,  and  waters,  speaks  to  him,  and  of  unfathomable  mysteries 
in  wondrous  sounds,  which  form  themselves  in  his  bosom  to  a  pious 
feeling  of  foreboding ;   then,  as  a  divine  spirit,    the  talent  itself  of 
transferring  this  dim  feeling  to  his  works,  descends  upon  him.     Have 
not   you  yourself,   young  man,  felt  strangely  affected  when  looking 
at  the  landscapes  of  the  old  masters  ?     Assuredly  you  did  not  think 


430  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

whether  the  leaves  of  the  lime  trees,  the  pines,  the  plane  trees,  might 
"be  truer  to  nature,  whether  the  back  ground  might  be  more  misty, 
or  the  water  might  be  clearer ;  but  the  spirit  that  breathes  from  the 
whole  raised  you  into  a  higher  region,  the  reflection  of  which  you 
seemed  to  behold.  Therefore,  study  nature  in  the  mechanical  part, 
sedulously  and  carefully,  that  you  may  attain  the  practice  of  repre- 
sentation; but  do  not  take  the  practice  for  the  art  itself.  If  you 
have  penetrated  into  the  deep  import  of  nature,  her  pictures  will  arise 
within  you  in  bright  magnificence.'  The  Maltese  was  silent ;  but  when 
Berthold,  deeply  moved  by  what  he  had  heard,  stood  with  downcast 
eyes,  and  incapable  of  uttering  a  word,  the  Maltese  left  him,  saying, 
*  I  had  no  intention  of  interrupting  you  in  your  calling,  but  I  know 
that  a  higher  spirit  is  slumbering  in  you.  I  called  upon  it.  with 
strong  words,  that  it  might  awake,  and  move  its  wings  with  freshness 
and  vigour.  Farewell.' 

"Berthold  felt  as  if  the  Maltese  had  only  clothed  in  words  that  which 
had  already  been  fermenting  in  his  soul.  The  inner  voice  broke 
forth.  *  No  !  All  this  striving,  this  constant  endeavour,  is  but  the 
uncertain,  deceptive  groping  of  the  blind.  Away  with  all  that  has 
hitherto  dazzled  me.'  He  was  not  in  a  condition  to  accomplish  a 
single  other  stroke.  He  left  his  master,  and  wandered  about  full  of 
wild  uneasiness,  loudly  imploring  that  the  high  knowledge  of  which 
the  Maltese  had  spoken  might  be  revealed  to  him. 

"  '  Only  in  sweet  dreams  was  I  happy — yes,  truly  blessed  !  Then 
every  thing  that  the  Maltese  had  spoken  became  true.  I  lay  in  the 
green  hedge,  while  magical  exhalations  played  around  me,  and 
the  voice  of  nature  sounded  audibly  and  melodiously  through  the 
dark  forest.  '  Listen,  listen,  oh !  thou  initiated  one.  Hear  the 
original  tones  of  creation,  which  fashion  themselves  to  beings  ac- 
cessible to  thy  mind.'  And  when  I  heard  the  chords  sound  plainer 
and  plainer,  I  felt  as  though  a  new  sense  was  awakened  in  me,  and 
apprehended  with  wonderful  perspicuity,  that  which  had  appeared 
unfathomable.  As  if  in  strange  hieroglyphics  I  drew  in  the  air  the 
secrets  that  had  been  revealed  to  me  with  characters  of  fire;  and  this 
hieroglyphic  writing  was  a  strange  landscape,  upon  which  trees, 
hedges,  flowers,  and  waters  moved,  as  it  seemed,  in  loud  delightful 
sounds.' 

"  But  it  was  only  in  dreams  that  poor  Berthold  felt  real  happiness, 
for  his  strength  was  broken,  and  his  mind  was  more  disturbed  than 
it  had  been  in  Rome,  when  he  wished  to  be  an  historical  painter.  If 
he  strode  through  the  dark  wood,  an  unpleasant  sensation  of  awe 
came  over  him ;  if  he  went  out  and  looked  into  the  distant  moun- 
tains, he  felt  as  though  icy  cold  claws  grasped  his  heart — his  breath 
was  stopped— and  he  felt  as  if  he  perished  from  internal  anguish. 
All  nature,  which  used  to  smile  kindly  upon  him,  became  a 
threatening  monster,  and  her  voice,  which  used  to  greet  him  sweetly 
in  the  murmuring  of  the  evening  breeze,  in  the  bubbling  of  the 
brook,  in  the  rustling  of  the  leaves,  now  told  him  of  nothing  but  per- 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  431 

dition.  At  last,  however,  the  more  these  lively  dreams  consoled 
him,  the  calmer  he  became;  nevertheless,  he  avoided  being  alone  in 
the  open  air,  and  hence  he  associated  himself  with  a  couple  of  cheer- 
ful German  painters,  and  took  with  them  many  a  trip  to  the  loveliest 
spots  of  Naples. 

"  One  of  them,  whom  we  will  call  Florentin,  was  at  this  moment 
more  intent  upon  the  enjoyment  of  life,  than  upon  the  serious  study 
of  his  art,  as  his  portfolio  sufficiently  testified.  Groups  of  dancing 
peasant-girls,  processions,  rural  festivals — all  this  class  of  subjects  he 
could  transfer  to  paper  with  a  sure,  ready  hand,  whenever  he  chanced 
to  meet  with  them.  Every  drawing,  even  though  it  were  a  mere 
sketch,  had  life  and  motion.  At  the  same  time  his  mind  was  by  no 
means  closed  to  the  higher  in  art;  on  the  contrary,  he  penetrated 
more  than  any  modern  painter  into  the  strange  import  of  the  paint- 
ings by  all  masters.  In  his  sketch-book  he  had  copied  in  outline  the 
frescoes  of  an  old  convent-church  in  Rome,  before  the  walls  were 
pulled  down.  They  represented  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Catharine,  and 
one  could  not  see  any  thing  more  beautiful,  more  happily  conceived 
than  those  outlines,  which  made  a  very  peculiar  impression  upon 
Berthold.  He  saw  flashes  through  the  gloomy  desert  that  surrounded 
him,  and  the  result  was,  that  he  became  capable  of  appreciating  the 
cheerful  mind  of  Florentin,  and  that,  as  the  latter  when  representing 
the  charms,  especially  brought  forward  the  human  principle,  he  also 
took  this  principle  as  the  ground  on  which  he  must  stand,  not  to  float 
away  into  boundless  space.  While  Florentin  was  hastily  sketching 
some  group  that  he  met,  Berthold  took  the  opportunity  of  looking 
into  his  book,  and  tried  to  imitate  the  lovely  figure  of  Catharine,  in 
which  he  was  tolerably  successful,  although,  as  at  Rome,  he  failed  in 
giving  his  figures  the  animation  of  the  original.  He  complained  of 
this  to  Florentin,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  far  his  superior  in  true 
artistical  genius,  and  at  the  same  time  told  him  all  that  the  Maltese 
had  spoken  about  art.  *  The  Maltese  is  right,  dear  brother  Ber- 
thold,' said  Florentin,  '  and  I  rank  the  genuine  landscape  quite  as 
high  as  the  deeply  significant  sacred  histories,  as  depicted  by  the  old 
masters.  Nay,  I  maintain  that  one  ought  first  to  strengthen  oneself 
by  the  representation  of  that  organic  nature  which  is  nearest  to  us, 
that  we  may  be  able  to  find  light  for  her  darker  regions.  I  advise 
you,  Berthold,  to  practise  yourself  in  sketching  figures,  and  in  ar- 
ranging your  thoughts  in  them.  Perhaps  by  this  means  you  will 
gain  additional  light.'  Berthold  acted  according  to  the  suggestion 
of  his  friend,  and  it  seemed  to  him,  as  if  the  dark  clouds  which  spread 
over  his  life,  were  passing  away. 

"  *  I  endeavoured  to  represent  that,  which  seemed  no  more  than  a 
mere  obscure  feeling  in  my  innermost  soul,  by  hieroglyphic  characters, 
as  I  had  done  in  my  dream ;  but  the  hieroglyphics  became  human 
figures,  which  moved  about  a  focus  of  light  in  strange  combi- 
nations. This  focus  was  to  be  the  noblest  form  that  ever  was 
evoked  by  a  painter's  fancy,  but  I  vainly  endeavoured,  when  this 


432  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

form  appeared  to  me  in  a  dream,  surrounded  by  the  rays  of  heaven, 
to  catch  the  features.  Every  attempt  to  represent  it  proved  an  utter 
failure,  and  I  seemed  to  fade  away  in  a  state  of  the  most  ardent  de- 
sire.' Florentin  perceived  the  situation  of  his  friend,  who  was  excited 
to  a  morbid  degree,  and  gave  him  all  the  consolation  in  his  power. 
Often  did  he  tell  him  that  this  was  the  very  time  when  illumination 
would  break  upon  him ;  but  Berthold  merely  slunk  about  like  a 
dreamer,  and  all  his  attempts  were  but  the  feeble  efforts  of  a  puny 
child. 

"  In  the  vicinity  of  Naples  was  a  duke's  villa  from  which  there 
was  the  finest  view  of  Vesuvius  and  the  sea,  and  which,  on  this 
account  was  hospitably  kept  open  for  foreign  artists,  especially  land- 
scape painters.  Berthold  had  often  worked  here,  but  still  oftener 
in  a  grotto  in  the  park  had  he  given  himself  up  to  his  fantastic 
dreams.  One  day  he  was  sitting  in  this  grotto  tortured  by  the 
sense  of  longing,  that  tore  his  bosom,  and  was  shedding  briny  tears, 
hoping  that  the  star  would  shine  upon  his  obscure  path,  when  a 
rustling  was  heard  in  the  hedges,  and  the  form  of  an  exquisitely 
beautiful  woman  was  before  him. 

"  '  The  sunbeams  fell  upon  her  angelic  countenance:  she  cast  upon 
me  an  indescribable  glance.  It  was  Saint  Catharine.  No,  more 
than  she,  it  was  my  ideal.  Mad  with  transport  I  threw  myself  on 
the  ground,  and  the  form  vanished  with  a  benignant  smile !  My 
most  ardent  prayer  was  realised.' 

"Florentin  entered  the  grotto,  and  was  surprised  at  Berthold, 
who,  with  beaming  countenance,  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  while 
the  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  '  My  friend !  my  friend !'  he 
stammered  forth ;  '  I  am  happy — I  am  blessed — she  is  found — 
found !'  He  hurried  to  his  atelier,  and  stretching  the  canvass  began 
to  paint  as  if  inspired  by  divine  power,  he  charmed  before  him  the 
superterrestrial  woman — for  so  he  thought  her — with  the  full  glow 
of  life.  From  this  moment  his  inmost  soul  was  entirely  changed. 
Far  from  feeling  that  melancholy  which  preyed  upon  his  heart,  he 
was  serene  and  cheerful.  He  industriously  studied  the  chefs-d'oeuvre 
of  the  old  painters.  Many  of  his  copies  were  perfectly  successful, 
and  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  began  to  produce  paintings  which 
caused  astonishment  among  all  the  connoisseurs.  As  for  landscapes, 
they  were  no  more  to  be  thought  of,  and  Hackert  himself  confessed 
that  the  youth  had  not  till  now  discovered  his  proper  vocation.  He 
had  to  paint  many  large  works,  such  as  altar-pieces  for  churches, 
and  generally  selected  the  more  cheerful  subjects  of  Christian  tra- 
dition. From  all  of  these,  however,  the  noble  form  of  his  ideal 
beamed  forth.  It  was  discovered  that  the  face  and  figure  of  the 

Princess  Augiola  T were  represented  to  the  life;  nay,  this  fact 

was  communicated  to  the  young  painter  himself,  and  knowing  folks 
••  .-lily  insinuated  that  the  German  was  smitten  to  the  heart  by 
the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  lovely  dame.  Berthold  was  highly  indig- 
nant at  this  silly  gossip  of  people  who  wished  to  lower  the  heavenly 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  433 

into  the  mere  earthy.  '  Do  you  believe,'  he  said,  l  that  such  a 
being  could  wander  here  upon  earth  ?  No ;  the  highest  was  revealed 
in  a  wondrous  vision;  it  was  the  moment  when  the  artist  receives 
consecration.'  Berthold  lived  happy,  until  the  French  army,  after 
Bonaparte's  conquests  in  Italy,  approached  the  kingdom  of  Naples, 
and  the  revolution,  which  so  fearfully  destroyed  all  the  peaceful 
relations  of  the  place,  broke  out.  The  king  and  queen  had  left 
Naples,  and  the  Citta  was  appointed.  The  vicar-general  concluded 
a  disgraceful  truce  with  the  French  commander,  and  the  French 
commissaries  soon  came  to  receive  the  sums  that  were  to  be  paid 
them.  The  vicar-general  fled  to  escape  the  rage  of  the  people,  who 
believed  themselves  deserted  by  him,  by  the  Citta,  and,  in  short,  by 
all  who  could  defend  them  against  the  approaching  enemy.  Then 
were  all  the  bands  of  society  loosened.  The  people,  in  a  state  of 
wild  anarchy,  set  law  and  order  at  defiance,  and  with  the  cry,  '  Viva 
la  Santa  Fede !'  wild  hordes  ran  through  the  streets  plundering  and 
burning  the  houses  of  the  nobles,  who  they  thought  had  sold  them 
to  the  enemy.  Vain  were  the  endeavours  of  Moliterno  and  Rocca 
Romana,  who  were  the  favourites  of  the  people,  and  had  been 
elected  for  leaders:  vain  were  their  endeavours  to  restore  order. 
The  dukes  Delia  Torre  and  Clement  Filomarino  were  murdered,  but 
the  thirst  for  blood  among  the  raging  people  was  not  yet  satisfied. 
Berthold  had  just  been  able  to  escape,  half-dressed,  from  a  burning 
house,  when  he  met  a  mob,  that  with  kindled  torches  and  glittering 

knives,  was  hurrying  to  the  palace  of  the  Duke  of  T .     These 

madmen,  taking  him  for  one  of  their  own  class,  carried  him  along 
with  them,  shouting,  '  Viva  la  Santa  Fede  !'  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  duke,,  the  servants,  every  one  who  resisted,  were  murdered,  and 
the  palace,  into  which  Berthold  was  more  and  more  forced  by  the 
throng,  was  in  flames.  Thick  clouds  of  smoke  rolled  through  the 
long  passages.  Berthold,  in  danger  of  being  burned  to  death,  darted 
through  the  now  open  doors  in  hopes  of  finding  an  outlet,  but  all 
in  vain;  a  piercing  shriek  of  agony  struck  his  ear,  and  he  rushed  into 
the  hall.  A  woman  was  struggling  with  a  lazzarone,  who  held  her 
fast,  and  was  about  to  plunge  a  knife  in  her  heart.  It  was  the  prin- 
cess— it  was  Berthold's  ideal !  Losing  all  consciousness  with  horror, 
he  sprang  towards  them,  and  it  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  seize 
the  lazzarone,  to  fling  him  to  the  ground,  to  plunge  his  own  knife 
in  his  throat,  to  catch  the  princess  in  his  arms,  to  fly  with  her 
through  the  flaming  ruins,  to  dash  down  the  steps,  and  to  go  on — on 
— through  the  dense  crowd  of  people.  None  attempted  to  stop  him 
in  his  flight.  With  the  bloody  knife  in  his  hand,  with  his  face  be- 
grimed by  smoke,  with  his  clothes  torn,  he  was  taken  for  a  plun- 
derer and  murderer  by  the  people,  who  willingly  conceded  him 
his  prey.  In  a  deserted  corner  of  the  city,  beneath  an  old  wall,  to 
which,  as  if  by  instinct  he  had  run  to  escape  danger,  he  fell  ex- 
hausted. On  recovering,  he  found  the  princess  kneeling  at  his  side, 
and  washing  his  forehead  with  cold  water.  '  Oh  thanks ! — thanks  1* 


434  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

said  she,  in  the  softest  and  most  lovely  voice ;  '  thanks  to  the  saints 
that  thou  hast  recovered,  my  preserver,  my  all !'  Berthold  raised 
himself, — he  fancied  he  was  dreaming,  he  looked  with  fixed  eyes 
upon  the  princess — yes,  it  was  herself — the  celestial  form  which 
had  kindled  the  divine  spark  in  his  breast.  '  Is  it  possible? — Is  it 
true? — Do  I  live?'  he  exclaimed.  '  Yes,'  replied  the  princess,  '  thou 
livest  for  me.  That  which  thou  didst  not  venture  even  to  hope,  has 
happened  through  a  miracle.  Oh !  I  know  thee  well, — thou  art  the 
German  painter,  Berthold,  who  loved  me,  and  ennobled  me  in  his 
beautiful  works.  Was  it  then  possible  for  me  to  be  thine?  But  now 
I  am  thine  for  ever — let  us  fly !'  A  strange  feeling,  as  when  a  sudden 
pain  disturbs  sweet  dreams,  darted  through  Berthold  as  the  princess 
spoke.  But  when  the  lovely  woman  clasped  him  with  her  full, 
snow-white  arms,  when  he  pressed  her  passionately  to  his  bosom, 
then  did  a  delicious  trembling,  hitherto  unknown,  take  possession  of 
him,  and  in  the  mad  delight  of  possessing  the  greatest  earthly  fe- 
licity, he  cried :  *  Oh,  it  was  no  delirious  dream !  No  !  it  is  my  wife 
whom  I  embrace,  and  whom  I  will  never  leave !' 

"  Escape  from  the  city  was  at  first  impossible,  for  at  the  gate  stood 
the  French  army,  whose  entrance  the  people,  although  badly  armed 
and  without  leaders,  were  able  to  dispute  for  two  days.  Berthold, 
however,  succeeded  in  flying  with  Angiola  from  one  hiding-place  to 
another,  and  at  last  out  of  the  city.  Angiola,  deeply  enamoured  of 
him,  could  not  think  of  remaining  in  Italy;  she  wished  her  family 
to  consider  her  dead,  that  Berthold's  possession  of  her  might  be  se- 
cure. A  diamond  necklace,  and  some  valuable  rings  which  she 
wore,  were  sufficient  to  provide  them  with  all  necessaries  at  Rome — 
whither  they  had  proceeded  by  slow  degrees—  and  they  arrived  happily 

at  M ,  in  Southern  Germany,  where  Berthold  intended  to  settle, 

and  to  support  himself  by  his  art.  Was  it  not  a  state  of  felicity,  not 
even  to  be  dreamed,  that  Angiola,  that  creature  of  celestial  loveli- 
ness, that  ideal  of  his  most  delightful  visions,  now  became  his  own, 
— when  all  social  laws  had  seemed  to  raise  an  insurmountable  barrier 
between  him  and  his  beloved  ?  Berthold  could  hardly  comprehend 
his  happiness,  he  was  abandoned  to  inexpressible  delight,  until 
the  inner  voice  became  louder  and  louder,  urging  him  to  think  of 

his  art.     He  determined  to  found  his  fame  at  M by  a  large 

picture  which  he  designed  for  the  Maria  church  there.  The  whole 
subject  was  to  be  the  very  simple  one  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth  sitting 
on  the  grass  in  a  beautiful  garden,  with  the  infant  Christ  and  John 
playing  before  them ;  but  all  his  efforts  to  obtain  a  pure  spiritual 
view  of  his  picture  proved  fruitless.  As  in  that  unhappy  period  of 
the  crisis  the  forms  floated  away  from  him,  and  it  was  not  the  hea- 
venly Mary — no,  it  was  an  earthly  woman,  his  Angiola  herself,  fear- 
fully distorted,  that  stood  before  the  eyes  of  his  mind.  He  fancied 
that  he  could  defy  the  gloomy  power  tnat  seemed  to  grasp  him, — he 
prepared  his  colours  and  began  to  paint;  but  his  strength  was  bro- 
ken, and  all  his  endeavours  were — as  they  had  been  formerly — only 


THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G .  435 

the  puny  efforts  of  a  senseless  child.  Whatever  he  painted  was  stiff 
and  inanimate,  and  even  Angiola, — Angiola  his  ideal,  became,  when 
she  sat  to  him,  and  he  tried  to  paint  her,  a  mere  wax  image  on  the 
canvass,  staring  at  him  with  its  glassy  eyes.  His  soul  became  more 
and  more  the  prey  of  a  despondency,  that  consumed  all  the  happi- 
ness of  his  life.  He  would  not,  nay,  he  could  not,  work  any  more  ; 
and  thus  he  fell  into  a  state  of  poverty,  which  was  the  more  crush- 
ing, because  Angiola  did  not  utter  a  word  of  complaint. 

"  'The  grief  that  gnawed  more  and  more  into  my  soul,  that  grief 
that  was  the  offspring  of  a  hope,  invariably  deceived,  when  I  summoned 
powers  that  were  no  longer  mine,  soon  reduced  me  to  a  state  that 
might  be  compared  to  madness.  My  wife  bore  me  a  son, — that  in- 
creased my  misery,  and  my  long  suppressed  discontent  broke  out 
into  open,  burning  hate.  She — she  alone  had  been  the  cause  of  my 
unhappiness.  She  was  not  the  ideal  which  had  appeared  to  me,  but 
had  only  assumed  the  form  and  face  of  that  heavenly  woman.  In 
wild  despair  I  cursed  her  and  her  innocent  child.  I  wished  them 
both  dead,  that  I  might  be  freed  from  the  insupportable  pains  that 
tortured  me,  like  so  many  burning  knives.  Thoughts  of  hell  arose 
in  my  mind.  In  vain  did  I  read  in  Angiola's  corpse-like  face,  and 
in  her  tears,  the  madness  and  impiety  of  my  conduct.  *  Thou  hast 
cheated  me  out  of  my  life,  cursed  woman !'  I  thundered  forth,  and 
thrust  her  away  with  my  foot,  when  she  fell  fainting  to  the  ground 
and  clasped  my  knees.' 

"Berthold's  mad,  cruel  conduct  towards  his  wife  and  child  excited 
the  attention  of  the  neighbours,  who  informed  the  magistrates  of  the 
circumstance.  They  wished  to  imprison  him;  but  when  the  police 
entered  his  dwelling,  he  had  vanished  with  his  wife  and  child,  without 
leaving  so  much  as  a  trace  behind.  Soon  afterwards  he  appeared  at 

N ,  in  Upper  Silesia;  he  had  got  rid  of  his  wife  and  child,  and 

cheerfully  began  to  paint  the  picture  which  he  had  vainly  attempted 

at  M .  However  he  could  only  finish  the  Virgin  Mary,  and 

the  children — Christ  and  John — for  he  fell  into  a  dreadful  illness, 
which  brought  him  near  the  death  he  desired.  Every  thing  that 
belonged  to  him,  including  the  unfinished  picture,  was  sold  for  his 
subsistence;  and,  after  he  had  recovered,  in  some  measure,  he  de- 
parted, a  sick,  miserable  beggar.  He  afterwards  gained  a  poor  live- 
lihood by  a  few  jobs  of  wall-painting." 


"  There  is  something  terrible  in  the  history  of  Berthold,"  said  I 
to  the  professor.  "  Although  so  much  is  not  plainly  expressed,  I 
believe  that  he  was  the  reckless  murderer  of  his  innocent  wife  and 
child." 

"  He  is  a  mad  fool,"  replied  the  professor,  "to  whom  I  do  not  give 
credit  for  enough  courage  to  perform  such  an  act.  On  this  point  he 
never  speaks  plainly ;  and  the  question  is,  whether  it  be  not  a  mere 


436  THE  JESUITS'  CHURCH  IN  G . 

fancy  that  lie  took  any  part  in  the  death  of  his  wife  and  child.  He 
now  returns  to  painting  marble ;  and  this  very  night  he  will  finish  the 
altar.  This  puts  him  in  a  good-humour,  and  you  may  learn  some- 
thing about  this  critical  affair  from  his  own  mouth." 

I  must  confess  that  the  thought  of  passing  midnight  in  the  church 
alone  with  Berthold  made  me  shudder  a  little,  now  I  had  read  his  his- 
tory. I  thought  that  there  might  be  a  little  of  the  devil  in  him  in 
spite  of  his  good-humour  and  frank  deportment;  and  I  chose  rather 
to  be  in  his  company  that  very  noon  in  the  clear  sunlight. 

I  found  him  upon  the  scaffold,  reserved  and  in  an  ill-humour, 
painting  the  veins  of  marble.  Climbing  up  to  him,  I  reached  him 
the  pots,  while  he  stared  at  me  with  amazement.  "  I  am  your  help- 
mate," said  I  softly,  and  this  drew  a  smile  from  him.  Now  I  began 
to  talk  of  his  life,  so  as  to  let  him  know  that  I  was  acquainted  with 
all;  and  he  seemed  to  believe  that  he  himself  had,  on  that  night, 
communicated  every  thing.  Very,  very  gently  I  came  to  the 
frightful  catastrophe,  and  then  said  suddenly — "  Did  you  actually, 
in  your  unholy  madness,  murder  your  wife  and  child?" 

At  this  he  let  the  paint-pot  and  the  pencil  fall ;  and,  staring  at  me 
with  a  hideous  countenance,  as  he  raised  both  his  hands,  cried 
out,  "  No,  these  hands  are  unstained  by  the  blood  of  my  wife — of  my 
son !  Another  such  word  and  I  will  dash  myself  down  from  the 
scaffolding  with  you,  so  that  both  our  heads  shall  be  shattered  on  the 
stone  floor  of  the  church." 

At  this  moment  I  felt  my  situation  rather  odd,  and  deemed  it  ad- 
visable to  change  the  subject.  "  Look  here,  dear  Berthold,"  said  I, 
as  quietly  and  coolly  as  possible;  "  see  how  that  ugly  dark  yellow 
is  running  on  the  wall." 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  spot,  and  while  he  painted  out  the  yellow, 
I  slipped  gently  down  the  scaffold,  left  the  church,  and  went  to  the 
professor,  to  have  a  hearty  laugh  at  my  well- chastised  presumption. 

My  vehicle  was  repaired,  and  I  left  G ,  after  Professor  Aloysius 

Walter  had  solemnly  promised  that  in  case  any  thing  happened  to 
Berthold,  he  would  communicate  it  in  writing  immediately. 

About  half  a  year  elapsed,  when  I  actually  received  a  letter 
from  the  professor.  He  expressed  himself  in  very  prolix  terms  of 

praise  about  our  meeting  at  G ,  and  wrote  as  follows  about 

JBerthold: — "  Soon  after  your  departure  affairs  took  a  singular  turn 
with  our  whimsical  painter.  He  became  suddenly  quite  cheerful, 
and  finished,  in  the  most  splendid  style,  the  great  altar-piece,  which  is 
now  the  wonder  of  every  body.  He  then  vanished;  and,  as  he  took 
nothing  with  him,  and  a  few  days  afterwards  we  found  a  hat  and 

stick  lying  near  the  O stream,  we  are  all  of  opinion  that  he  met 

a  voluntary  death."  J.  O. 


437 


THE   SEVERED  HAND. 

BY  WILHELM  HAUFF. 

[This  story  is  related  by  a  Greek  merchant,  in  the  collection  called  "Die 
Karavane."] 

I  WAS  born  at  Constantinople,  where  my  father  was  a  dragoman 
to  the  Sublime  Porte,  and  carried  on  besides,  a  tolerably  lucrative 
trade  in  perfumes  and  silks.  He  gave  me  a  good  education,  partly 
instructing  me  himself,  and  partly  engaging  a  priest  of  our  religion 
for  that  purpose.  He  originally  intended  me  for  his  own  business, 
but  as  I  displayed  greater  talents  than  he  expected,  he  determined, 
by  the  advice  of  his  friends,  to  make  me  a  physician,  being  of  opi- 
nion that  a  physician,  if  he  has  learned  more  than  the  common 
charlatans,  could  make  his  fortune  in  Constantinople.  Our  house 
was  frequented  by  many  Franks,  one  of  whom  urged  my  father  to 
let  me  go  to  the  city  of  Paris,  in  his  native  country,  where  people 
might  study  such  things  gratis  and  in  the  best  manner,  saying,  he 
would  take  me  with  him  for  nothing  when  he  returned  thither. 

My  father,  who  in  his  youth  had  also  travelled,  agreed,  and  the 
Frank  told  me  to  be  ready  in  three  months.  I  was  delighted 
beyond  measure  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  foreign  lands,  and  could 
scarcely  await  the  time  when  we  should  embark.  Having  at 
length  concluded  all  his  business,  the  Frank  prepared  for  his 
voyage,  and  on  the  evening  previous  to  our  departure  my  father 
took  me  to  his  lodgings.  Here  I  saw  beautiful  dresses  and  arms 
lying  on  the  table ;  but  what  most  attracted  my  eyes  was  a  large 
heap  of  gold,  as  I  had  never  before  seen  so  much  together.  My 
father  embraced  me,  saying,  "  Behold,  my  son,  I  have  provided 
these  clothes  for  your  voyage ;  those  arms  are  yours,  and  they  are 
the  same  your  grandfather  gave  me  when  I  went  forth  to  foreign 
countries.  I  know  you  can  wield  them,  but  never  use  them  ex- 
cepting in  self-defence,  and  then  fight  bravely.  My  fortune  is  not 
large;  but  see,  I  have  divided  it  into  three  parts,  of  which  one 
is  yours,  one  shall  be  for  my  support  and  wants,  but  the  third  shall 
be  sacred  property,  and  devoted  to  the  purpose  of  saving  you  in  the 
hour  of  need."  Thus  spoke  my  aged  father,  and  tears  trembled 
in  his  eyes,  perhaps  from  a  certain  presentiment,  for  I  never  saw 
him  again. 

Our  voyage  was  prosperous;  we  soon  reached  the  land  of  the 
Franks,  and  in  six  days'  journey,  after  landing,  we  came  to  the 
great  city  of  Paris.  Here  my  Frankish  friend  hired  a  room  and 


438  THE  SEVERED  HAND. 

advised  me  to  use  proper  discretion  in  laying  out  my  money,  which 
in  all  was  two  thousand  thalers.  I  lived  for  three  years  in  this  city, 
and  learned  what  every  skilful  physician  ought  to  know;  but  I 
should  not  speak  the  truth  were  I  to  say  that  I  liked  the  place,  for 
the  manners  and  customs  of  this  people  did  not  suit  me.  Moreover, 
I  had  but  few  friends,  though  these  were  indeed  noble  young 
men. 

The  desire  of  seeing  my  native  country,  at  length,  became 
strong;  and  having  all  this  time  heard  nothing  of  my  father,  I  seized 
a  favourable  opportunity  to  return  home. 

This  opportunity  was  afforded  me  by  an  embassy  from  the  land  of 
the  Franks  to  the  Sublime  Porte.  I  engaged  myself  as  surgeon  in 
the  suite  of  the  ambassador,  and  was  fortunate  enough  to  return  to 
Constantinople.  There  I  found  my  father's  house  closed,  and  the 
neighbours  were  astonished  when  they  saw  me,  and  told  me  that  my 
father  had  died  two  months  since.  The  priest  who  had  instructed 
me  in  my  youth  brought  me  the  keys  of  the  now  desolate  house, 
which  I  entered  alone  and  forsaken.  I  found  every  thing  as 
my  father  had  left  it,  only  the  money  he  had  promised  to  bequeath 
me  was  not  there.  I  inquired  of  the  priest  about  it,  who.  with  a 
bow,  told  me  that  my  father  had  died  as  a  holy  man,  since  he  had 
bequeathed  all  his  money  to  the  church. 

The  latter  circumstance  has  ever  since  been  inexplicable  to  me. 
Yet  what  could  I  do?  I  had  no  witnesses  against  the  priest,  and 
could  not  but  consider  myself  fortunate  that  he  had  not  also  claimed  as 
a  legacy  the  house  and  goods  of  my  father.  This  was  the  first  calamity 
that  befel  me,  but  from  that  time  misfortunes  succeeded  each  other. 
My  reputation  as  a  physician  spread  but  slowly,  because  I  was  ashamed 
to  play  the  quack,  and  I  wanted  everywhere  the  recommendation 
of  my  father,  who  would  have  introduced  me  to  the  wealthiest  and 
noblest  persons,  who  now  no  longer  thought  of  poor  Zaleukos.  Nei- 
ther could  I  find  customers  for  my  father's  goods,  for  all  had  gone 
elsewhere  after  his  death,  and  new  ones  come  but  slowly.  Once  sadly 
reflecting  on  my  situation  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  often  seen  in 
France  men  of  my  native  land,  who  travelled  through  the  country, 
exposing  their  goods  in  the  market-places  of  the  towns;  I  remem- 
bered that  they  easily  found  customers  because  they  came  from  a 
foreign  country,  and  that  by  such  traffic  one  might  profit  a  hundred- 
fold. My  resolution  was  soon  taken.  I  sold  my  father's  house,  gave 
part  of  the  money  I  received  for  it  to  a  tried  friend  to  keep  for  me, 
and  with  the  rest  I  purchased  such  things  as  are  seldom  seen  in  the 
west — viz :  shawls,  silks,  ointments,  and  perfumes.  Having  engaged 
a  berth  in  a  ship,  I  thus  set  out  on  my  second  voyage  to  France.  As 
soon  as  I  had  turned  my  back  on  the  castles  of  the  Dardanelles  it 
seemed  as  if  fortune  would  again  smile  on  me.  Our  passage  was 
short  and  prosperous. 

I  travelled  through  large  and  small  towns,  and  found  everywhere 
ready  purchasers  of  my  goods.  My  friend  in  Constantinople  sup- 


THE  SEVERED  HAND.  439 

plied  me  constantly  with  fresh  goods,  and  I  daily  became  more 
wealthy. 

When  at  length  I  thought  I  had  saved  enough  to  risk  a  greater 
enterprise,  I  went  to  Italy.  But  I  must  here  mention  that  I  derived 
no  small  additional  profit  from  the  healing  art.  Whenever  I  entered 
a  town,  I  announced,  by  bills,  that  a  Greek  physician  had  arrived, 
who  had  already  cured  many ;  and  truly  my  balsams  and  medicines 
brought  me  in  many  a  zechino.  I  now  reached  the  city  of  Florence, 
in  Italy,  where  I  purposed  remaining  for  some  time,  as  I  liked  it 
much,  and  wished  to  recover  from  the  fatigues  of  my  travels.  I 
hired  a  shop  in  the  quarter  called  Santa  Croce,  and  in  an  inn  not  far 
from  thence  two  beautiful  rooms  which  led  to  a  balcony.  Having 
made  these  arrangements,  I  had  my  bills  placarded  about,  announcing 
myself  as  a  physician  and  merchant.  I  had  no  sooner  opened  my 
shop  than  I  had  crowds  of  customers,  and  though  my  prices  were 
rather  high,  I  sold  more  than  others,  because  I  was  civil  and  obliging 
to  my  customers.  When  I  had  thus  pleasantly  spent  four  days  in 
Florence,  I  was  one  evening  about  closing  my  shop,  and  only  had  to 
examine  my  stock  of  boxes  of  ointments,  as  was  my  custom,  when  I 
found  in  a  small  jar  a  piece  of  paper  which  I  did  not  recollect  to  have 
put  there.  On  opening  it  I  discovered  that  it  was  an  invitation  for  me 
to  appear  that  night  at  twelve  o'clock  precisely  on  the  bridge  called 
Ponte  Vecchio.  I  conjectured  a  long  time  who  it  could  possibly  be 
that  invited  me  thither,  but,  not  knowing  a  soul  in  Florence,  I 
thought  some  one  wished,  perhaps,  to  take  me  secretly  to  some  sick 
person,  which  was  not  uncommon,  and  I  therefore  determined  to 
go.  However,  I  took  the  precaution  to  buckle  on  the  sword  my 
father  had  given  me. 

When  it  was  near  midnight  I  set  out  on  my  way,  and  soon  arrived 
at  the  Ponte  Vecchio.  I  found  the  bridge  forsaken  and  lonely,  and 
determined  to  await  the  person  who  had  appointed  to  meet  me. 

It  was  a  cold  night,  the  moon  shone  brightly,  and  I  looked  down 
on  the  waves  of  the  Arno,  glistening  in  the  moonlight.  The  church 
clocks  now  struck  the  midnight  hour,  I  looked  up  and  saw  before 
me  a  tall  man,  enveloped  in  a  red  cloak,  a  corner  of  which  he  had 
drawn  over  his  face. 

At  first,  I  was  rather  terrified,  at  his  suddenly  appearing  behind 
me,  but  soon  recovered  myself,  and  said,  "If  you  have  summoned 
me  hither,  say  what  is  your  command."  The  Red  Cloak  turned 
round,  and  slowly  said,  "  Follow  me."  I  felt  somewhat  uneasy  at 
the  thought  of  following  the  stranger  alone  ;  so  I  stood  still,  saying, 
"Nay,  sir,  please  first' to  tell  me  whither.  Moreover,  you  might  let  me 
have  a  peep  at  your  face,  that  I  may  see  whether  you  intend  any  good 
with  me."  But  the  Red  Cloak  did  not  seem  to  mind  my  words,  "  If  you 
will  not  follow,  Zaleukos,  stop  where  you  are,"  he  said,  and  then  went 
on.  Now  my  anger  was  roused,  and  I  cried,  "  Think  you  a  man  like 
me,  will  submit  to  be  tantalized  by  any  fool,  and  to  wait  for  nothing 
in  a  cold  night  like  this  ?"  In  three  leaps  I  overtook  him,  seized  him 

2G 


440  THE  SEVERED  HAND. 

by  the  cloak,  and  cried  still  louder,  while  grasping  my  sword  with 
the  other  hand.  But  the  cloak  alone  remained  in  my  hand,  and  the 
stranger  vanished  round  the  next  corner.  My  rage  gradually  sub- 
sided, but  still  I  held  the  cloak,  and  this  I  expected  would  give  me 
a  clue  to  this  singular  adventure.  I  wrapped  it  round  me,  and 
walked  home.  When  I  was  about  a  hundred  paces  from  my  house, 
some  one  passed  close  by  me,  and  whispered  to  me  in  French,  "  Be 
on  your  guard.  Count,  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  to  night."  But 
before  I  could  look  round,  this  somebody  had  passed,  and  I  only  saw 
his  shadow  glide  along  the  houses.  That  those  words  were  addressed 
to  the  owner  of  the  cloak  and  not  to  me  was  pretty  evident,  but  this 
threw  no  light  on  the  affair.  The  following  morning,  I  considered 
what  I  should  do.  At  first  I  intended  to  have  the  cloak  cried,  as  if 
I  had  found  it :  on  reflection,  however,  I  thought  the  owner  might 
send  another  person  for  it,  and  that  I  might  still  have  no  clue  to  the 
discovery.  While  thus  considering,  I  looked  at  the  cloak  more 
narrowly ;  It  was  of  heavy  Genoese  reddish  purple  velvet,  edged 
with  Astracan  fur,  and  richly  embroidered  with  gold.  The  sight  of 
this  splendid  cloak  suggested  an  idea  to  me,  which  I  resolved  to  exe- 
cute. I  carried  it  to  my  shop,  and  exposed  it  for  sale,  but  set  upon 
it  so  high  a  price,  that  I  felt  sure  I  should  not  find  a  purchaser.  My 
object  in  this  was  to  look  closely  at  every  person  who  might  ask  the 
price  ;  for  I  thought  I  could  discover,  among  a  thousand,  the  figure 
of  the  stranger,  which  after  the  loss  of  the  cloak  had  shown  itself  to  me 
distinctly,  though  but  for  a  moment.  Many  came  desirous  of  buying 
the  cloak,  the  extraordinary  beauty  of  which  attracted  every  eye, 
but  no  one  had  the  remotest  resemblance  to  the  stranger,  and  none 
would  pay  for  it  the  high  price  of  two-hundred  zechinos.  What  struck 
me  most  was,  that  all  whom  I  asked  whether  they  had  ever  seen  such 
a  cloak  in  Florence  before,  replied  in  the  negative,  assuring  me  they 
had  never  seen  such  costly  and  tasteful  work. 

As  evening  approached,  a  young  man  came  who  had  often  been  in 
my  shop,  and  had  also  during  the  day  made  a  handsome  offer  for  it. 
He  threw  a  purse  of  zechinos  on  the  table,  saying,  "  By  Heavens, 
Zaleukos  I  must  have  your  cloak,  though  it  will  beggar  me  !"  At 
these  words  he  counted  down  the  gold.  I  was  greatly  embarrassed, 
having  only  exposed  the  cloak  for  sale  in  hopes  of  attracting  the  looks 
of  its  owner,  and  now  comes  a  young  madcap  to  pay  the  exorbitant 
price.  But  what  could  I  do  ?  I  yielded  ;  for  the  idea  was  pleasing 
of  being  so  handsomely  recompensed  for  my  nocturnal  adventure. 
The  young  man  put  on  the  cloak  and  went  away  ;  but  returned  at 
the  door,  as  he  took  off  a  paper  which  was  fastened  to  it,  threw  it 
to  me,  and  said,  "  Here,  Zaleukos  is  something  which  I  think  does 
not  belong  to  the  cloak."  I  took  the  paper  carelessly,  when  behold  ! 
it  contained  these  words  : 

"  Bring  the  cloak  to  night  at  the  usual  hour  to  the  Ponte  Vecchio, 
and  four  hundred  zechinos  shall  be  yours."  I  was  thunderstruck. 
Thus  then  I  had  trifled  with  my  good  luck,  and  utterly  missed  my 


THE  SEVERED  HAND.  441 

aim  ;  but  I  soon  recovered,  took  the  two-hundred  zechinos,  followed 
him,  and  said,  "  Take  back  your  money,  my  friend,  and  leave  me  the 
cloak,  I  cannot  possibly  part  with  it."  He  thought  at  first  I  was 
joking,  but  when  he  perceived  I  was  in  earnest,  he  flew  into  a  rage 
at  my  demand,  called  me  a  fool,  and  we  at  length  came  to  blows.  In 
the  scuffle,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure  the  cloak,  and  was  about 
to  run  off  with  it,  when  the  young  man  called  the  police  to  his  assist- 
ance, and  brought  me  before  the  magistrate.  The  latter  was  much 
surprised  at  the  accusation,  and  awarded  the  cloak  to  my  opponent. 
I  now  offered  the  young  man  twenty,  fifty,  eighty,  nay,  a  hundred 
zechinos,  if  he  would  let  me  have  it.  My  gold  effected  what  my  en- 
treaties could  not.  He  took  my  money,  I  went  off  triumphant  with 
the  cloak,  and  was  obliged  to  submit  to  be  called  mad  by  all  Florence. 
But  I  cared  little  for  the  opinion  of  the  people,  since  I  knew  more 
than  they,  viz  :  that  I  still  gained  by  my  bargain. 

I  awaited  the  night  with  impatience.  About  the  same  time  as 
before  I  went  to  the  Ponte  Yecchio,  with  the  cloak  under  my  arm. 
The  figure  approached  me  with  the  last  stroke  of  the  clock,  and  I 
could  not  be  mistaken  as  to  its  identity.  "  Have  you  the  cloak?" 
was  the  question.  "  I  have,  sir,"  I  answered,  u  but  it  cost  me  a  hun- 
dred zechinos."  "I  know  it,"  he  replied;  "  here  are  four  hundred 
for  it."  With  these  words  he  stepped  to  the  broad  balustrade  and 
counted  down  the  gold,  four  hundred  pieces,  which  sparkled  beau- 
tifully in  the  moonlight;  their  glitter  delighted  my  heart,  which, 
alas !  little  imagined  that  this  was  its  last  joy.  I  put  the  money  in 
my  pocket,  and  was  going  to  take  a  close  survey  of  the  kind  un- 
known, but  he  had  on  a  mask,  through  which  his  dark  eyes  flashed 
at  me  frightfully.  "  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness,"  said  I. 
;'  What  else  do  you  desire  of  me?  for  I  must  tell  you  beforehand 
that  it  must  be  nothing  underhanded."  "  Unnecessary  fear,"  he  re- 
plied, as  he  wrapped  the  cloak  round  him.  "I  want  your  assistance 
as  a  physician,  not,  however,  for  one  living,  but  for  one  who  is  dead." 
"How  can  that  be?"  I  exclaimed,  astonished.  He  beckoned 
me  to  follow  him,  and  related  as  follows:  "  I  came  here  from 
foreign  lands  with  my  sister,  and  have  lived  with  her  at  the  house 
of  a  friend,  where  she  died  suddenly  yesterday.  Her  relatives  wish 
her  to  be  buried  to-morrow;  and  by  an  ancient  custom  in  our  family 
every  member  is  to  be  buried  in  the  vault  of  our  ancestors,  where 
many  who  died  in  foreign  countries  now  repose  embalmed.  I  wish 
to  leave  her  body  to  our  relations  here,  but  must  take  to  my  father 
her  head,  at  least,  that  he  may  see  his  daughter's  face  once  more." 

This  custom  of  cutting  off  the  head  of  beloved  relatives  seemed 
to  me  somewhat  repulsive,  but  I  did  not  venture  to  raise  any  ob- 
jections, fearing  to  give  offence  to  the  stranger.  I  therefore  told 
him  that  I  well  understood  embalming  the  dead  and  begged  him 
to  take  me  to  the  deceased.  At  the  same  time  I  could  not  refrain 
from  asking  him  why  all  this  must  be  done  so  mysteriously,  and 
in  the  night.  To  this  he  answered,  that  his  relations,  considering 
his  intention  as  somewhat  cruel,  would  prevent  him  if  he  at- 


442  THE  SEVERED  HAND. 

tempted  it  during  the  daytime ;  but  that  if  the  head  was  once 
severed  they  would  say  little  about  it;  that  he,  indeed,  would  have 
brought  me  the  head  himself  had  not  a  natural  feeling  deterred  him 
from  performing  the  operation. 

In  the  meanwhile  we  arrived  at  a  large,  splendid  mansion,  which 
rny  companion  pointed  out  as  the  end  of  our  nocturnal  walk.  Pass- 
ing the  principal  gate  we  entered  the  house  by  a  small  door,  which 
he  carefully  fastened  after  him,  and  ascended,  in  the  dark,  a  narrow 
winding  staircase.  This  led  to  a  faintly  lighted  corridor  through 
which  we  came  to  an  apartment,  which  was  lighted  by  a  lamp  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling. 

In  this  apartment  was  a  bed  in  which  the  corpse  lay.  The  stranger 
averted  his  face  and  seemed  anxious  to  hide  his  tears.  Pointing  to 
the  bed,  he  ordered  me  to  do  my  business  well  and  expeditiously,  and 
left  the  apartment. 

I  took  my  knives  out  of  the  case,  which,  as  a  doctor,  I  always 
carried,  and  approached  the  bed.  Only  the  head  of  the  corpse  was 
visible;  it  was  so  beautiful  that,  involuntarily,  I  felt  compassion  in 
my  inmost  heart  ;  the  dark  hair  hung  in  long  tresses  over  the  pale 
face,  and  the  eyes  were  closed.  I  commenced,  according  to  the 
custom  of  surgeons  when  they  amputate  a  limb,  by  making  an  in- 
cision in  the  skin.  Then  taking  my  sharpest  knife  I  cut  the  throat 
with  one  stroke.  Oh  !  horror  !  the  dead  opened  her  eyes,  but 
closed  them  again  immediately,  and  with  one  deep  sigh  now  breathed 
forth  her  life.  At  the  same  time  a  stream  of  hot  blood  gushed  over 
ine  from  the  wound.  I  was  convinced  that  I  only  had  killed  the 
poor  lady.  That  she  was  dead  now  I  could  no  longer  doubt,  since 
such  a  wound  was  sure  to  be  fatal.  I  stood  for  some  minutes  in 
fearful  anxiety  as  to  what  I  had  done.  Had  the  Red  Cloak  imposed 
on  me,  or  had  his  sister  only  been  apparently  dead  ?  The  latter 
seemed  to  me  the  more  probable,  but  I  dare  not  tell  the  brother  of 
the  dead  that  a  less  speedy  cut  would  perhaps  have  aroused  her  with- 
out killing  her.  I  was  going,  therefore,  to  sever  the  head  entirely, 
when  the  dying  lady  once  more  groaned,  stretched  herself  in  pain- 
ful convulsions,  and  then  expired.  Overcome  by  terror,  I  rushed 
shuddering  from  the  apartment.  It  was  dark  in  the  corridor  with- 
out, the  lamp  was  extinguished,  no  trace  of  my  companion  was  to 
be  discovered,  and  I  was  obliged  to  grope  my  way  along  the  wall  at 
hazard  in  order  to  reach  the  winding  staircase.  I  found  it  at  length, 
and  hurried  down  precipitately.  There  was  no  one  visible  below, 
the  door  was  ajar,  and  when  1  reached  the  street  I  breathed  more 
freely,  having  felt  oppressed  with  horror  in  the  house.  Spurred  on 
by  terror,  I  hastened  towards  my  lodging  and  buried  myself  in  the 
pillows  of  my  couch,  to  forget  the  atrocious  deed  I  had  perpetrated. 
But  sleep  fled  from  me,  and  the  morning  first  summoned  me  to  com- 
posure. It  seemed  to  me  probable  that  the  man  who  had  seduced 
me  to  the  fearful  act,  as  it  now  appeared  to  me,  would  not  inform 
against  me.  I  determined  to  go  into  my  shop  to  business  and  as- 
sume, if  possible,  a  cheerful  air.  But  alas !  a  new  circumstance 


THE  SEVERED  HAND.  443 

which  I  observed  only  now,  increased  ray  anxiety ;  I  missed  my  cap 
and  belt,  as  well  as  the  knives,  and  was  uncertain  whether  I  had  left 
them  in  the  apartment  of  the  murdered  lady,  or  had  lost  them  in  my 
flight.  The  former,  unfortunately,  seemed  more  probable,  and  the 
knives  would  therefore  betray  me  as  the  murderer. 

I  opened  my  shop  at  the  usual  time,  and  my  neighbour  came 
in,  as  he  usually  did  in  the  morning,  being  fond  of  a  chat.  "  Well, 
neighbour."  said  he,  "  what  do  you  think  of  this  horrible  occurrence 
which  took  place  last  night  ?"  I  pretended  not  to  know  any  thing 
about  it.  "  What !  do  you  pretend  not  to  know  what  is  known  all  over 
the  town?  Not  to  know  that  the  fairest  flower  in  Florence,  Bianca, 
the  daughter  of  the  governor,  was  murdered  last  night?  Ah  me  !  I 
saw  her  even  yesterday  go  in  her  carriage  with  her  bridegroom,  for  it 
was  only  yesterday  she  was  married.  Every  word  spoken  by  my  neigh- 
bour was  a  dagger  in  my  heart.  How  often  were  these  my  tortures 
renewed,  for  each  of  my  customers  repeated  the  story,  one  painting 
it  more  frightfully  than  the  other,  though  none  could  speak  all  the 
horrors  I  had  myself  witnessed.  About  noon  an  officer  from  the 
magistrate  entered  my  shop,  and  requesting  me  to  dismiss  the  cus- 
tomers, and,  producing  the  things  I  missed,  he  said,  "  Senore  Zaleukos, 
do  you  own  these  things?"  I  hesitated  a  moment  whether  I  had 
not  better  disown  them  altogether,  but  seeing  through  the  half-open 
door  my  landlord  and  several  acquaintances,  who  might  perhaps 
witness  against  me,  I  determined  not  to  aggravate  the  affair  by  tell- 
ing a  falsehood,  and  so  owned  the  things  produced.  The  officer  de- 
sired me  to  follow  him,  and  led  me  to  a  large  building,  which  I  soon 
recognised  as  a  prison.  He  showed  me  into  an  apartment  to  await 
further  orders. 

My  situation  was  terrible  as  I  reflected  on  it  in  my  solitude  ;  the 
thought  of  having  committed  murder,  though  unintentionally,  con- 
stantly returned.  Neither  could  I  deny  to  myself  that  the  glitter  of 
gold  had  captivated  my  senses,  or  I  could  not  so  easily  have  been 
caught  in  the  snare.  Two  hours  after  my  arrest,  I  was  led  from  my 
room  up  several  staircases  into  a  large  hall.  Twelve  persons,  mostly 
old  men,  were  sitting  at  a  round  table,  covered  with  black  cloth. 
Along  the  walls  stood  benches  occupied  by  the  nobility  of  Florence. 
In  the  galleries  above  stood  the  spectators,  densely  crowded  toge- 
ther. When  I  stepped  to  the  table,  a  man,  with  a  gloomy  and  me- 
lancholy expression  of  countenance,  rose  :  it  was  the  president  of 
the  tribunal.  Addressing. the  assembly,  he  said,  that  as  the  father 
of  the  murdered,  he  could  not  pass  judgment  in  this  matter,  and 
therefore,  ceded  his  place  to  the  senior  of  the  senators.  The  latter 
was  an  aged  man  of  at  least  ninety  years.  He  was  bent  with  age, 
and  his  temples  were  scantily  covered  with  a  few  white  hairs,  but 
his  eyes  still  burned  with  lustre,  and  his  voice  was  strong  and  firm. 
He  began  by  asking  me  whether  I  confessed  the  murder  ?  I  de- 
manded to  be  heard,  and  fearlessly,  and  in  a  very  audible  voice,  re- 
lated what  I  had  done,  and  what  I  knew.  I  observed  that  the  presi- 


444  THE  SEVERED  HAND. 

dent,  during  my  statement,  was  alternately  flushed  and  pale,  and  that 
when  I  concluded,  he  started  up  furiously,  crying  to  me,  "  What, 
wretch !  Do  you  wish  to  charge  the  crime  you  committed  from  ava- 
rice upon  another  ?"  The  senator  called  him  to  order  for  his  inter- 
ruption, as  he  had  voluntarily  resigned  his  right  of  judgment,  re- 
marking, moreover,  that  it  was  by  no  means  proved  that  I  committed 
the  crime  from  avarice,  as,  by  his  own  deposition,  nothing  had  been 
stolen  from  the  murdered.  Indeed,  he  went  still  further,  declaring 
that  the  president  must  give  an  account  of  the  life  of  his  daughter, 
for  that  only  could  enable  them  to  determine  whether  I  had  spoken 
the  truth  or  not.  He  now  dismissed  the  court  for  that  day  to  con- 
sult, as  he  said,  the  papers  of  the  deceased,  which  the  president 
would  deliver  to  him. 

I  was  again  led  back  to  my  prison  where  I  spent  a  sorrowful 
day,  still  ardently  hoping  that  some  connexion  between  the  dead 
lady  and  the  Red  Cloak  might  be  discovered.  Full  of  this  hope  I 
entered  the  judgment  hall  the  following  day.  Several  letters  lay 
on  the  table,  and  the  aged  senator  asked  me  whether  they  were 
written  by  me.  I  looked  at  them,  and  found  they  must  be  by  the 
same  hand  as  the  two  slips  of  paper  1  had  received.  This  I  stated 
to  the  senate,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  regard  it,  and  answered  that 
I  could,  and  must,  have  written  both,  the  initial  on  both  letters 
being  evidently  a  Z,  the  initial  letter  of  my  name.  The  letters  con- 
tained menaces  to  the  deceased,  and  warnings  against  the  marriage 
which  she  was  about  to  contract. 

The  president  appeared  to  have  given  singular  information  re- 
specting my  person,  for  they  treated  me  on  this  day  more  suspi- 
ciously and  severely.  In  justification  of  myself  I  appealed  to  my 
papers  which  must  be  found  in  my  lodgings,  but  they  told  me  that 
they  had  searched  and  found  nothing.  Thus,  at  the  closing  of  the 
court,  all  my  hopes  vanished,  and  when,  on  the  third  day,  I  was 
again  led  into  the  hall,  the  sentence  was  read  to  me  that  I  was  con- 
victed of  premeditated  murder  and  was  to  die.  To  this  condition 
had  I  come !  Forsaken  by  all  that  was  dear  on  earth,  far  distant 
from  my  native  country,  I  was,  though  innocent,  to  die  by  the  axe 
in  the  flower  of  youth.  As  I  was  sitting  in  my  lonely  dungeon 
on  the  evening  of  this  terrible  day  that  had  decided  my  fate,  all  my 
hopes  having  fled,  and  all  my  thoughts  being  seriously  fixed  on 
death,  the  door  opened  and  a  man  entered,  who  looked  silently  at 
me  for  a  long  time. 

"  Do  I  thus  find  you  again,  Zaleukos?"  said  he. 

The  faint  glimmer  of  my  lamp  prevented  me  from  recog- 
nising him,  but  the  sound  of  his  voice  awakened  in  me  recol- 
lections of  former  days.  It  was  Valetti,  one  of  the  few  friends  I 
had  known  in  Paris  while  there  pursuing  my  studies.  He  told  me 
that  he  happened  to  come  to  Florence  where  his  father  lived  much 
respected,  that  he  had  heard  my  history,  and  had  come  to  see  me 
once  more,  and  to  learn  from  me  how  I  could  have  committed  such 


TEE  SEVERED  HAND.  445 

a  heavy  crime.  I  told  him  the  whole  story.  He  seemed  much 
astonished,  and  conjured  me  to  tell  him,  my  only  friend,  every 
thing,  that  I  might  not  depart  this  life  with  a  lie  on  my  conscience. 
I  swore  to  him  with  a  most  solemn  oath  that  I  had  spoken  the 
truth,  and  that  no  other  guilt  oppressed  me,  but  that,  being  dazzled 
by  the  gold,  I  had  not  at  once  recognised  the  improbability  of  the 
stranger's  story. 

"  You  did  not  then  know  Bianca?"  he  asked. 

I  assured  him  I  had  never  seen  her.  Valetti  now  related  to  me 
that  a  deep  secret  was  connected  with  the  deed,  that  the  president  had 
very  much  hastened  my  sentence,  and  that  a  report  was  circulated 
that  I  had  long  known  Bianca,  and  now  had  murdered  her  out  of 
revenge  for  her  marrying  another.  I  observed  to  him,  that  all  this 
applied  well  to  the  Red  Cloak,  but  that  I  could  not  prove  his  parti- 
cipation in  the  deed.  Valetti  embraced  me,  weeping,  and  pro- 
mised to  do  all  in  his  power  to  save  my  life  at  least.  I  had  little 
hope,  though  I  knew  him  to  be  a  wise  man  and  well  conversant 
in  the  law,  and  that  he  would  not  fail  to  do  his  utmost  to  save  me. 
For  two  long  days  I  remained  in  suspense  ;  at  length  he  came  and 
exclaimed,  "  I  bring  a  consolation  though  a  sad  one.  You  will  live 
to  be  free,  but  must  lose  one  hand."  Deeply  affected,  I  thanked  my 
friend  for  having  saved  my  life.  He  told  me  the  president  had 
been  inexorable  as  to  granting  a  new  investigation  into  the  affair, 
but,  that  he  might  not  appear  unjust,  he  at  length  agreed  that  if 
they  could  find  a  similar  case  in  the  annals  of  Florence,  my  punish- 
ment should  be  according  to  that  awarded  in  such  a  case.  He, 
therefore, with  his  father  had  now  read  day  and  night  in  the  archives, 
and  had,  at  length,  found  a  case  similar  to  mine,  the  punishment  for 
which  was  that  the  perpetrator  should  have  his  left  hand  cut  off, 
his  property  confiscated,  and  that  he  himself  should  be  banished  for 
life.  This  was  now  my  sentence,  and  I  was  to  prepare  for  the 
painful  moment  which  awaited  me.  I  will  spare  you  this  terrible 
moment:  in  the  open  market-place  I  placed  my  hand  on  the  block, 
and  my  own  blood  gushed  over  me. 

When  all  was  over,  Valetti  took  me  to  his  house  until  my  reco- 
very was  completed,  and  then  nobly  provided  me  with  money  for 
my  journey,  for  all  I  had  earned  with  so  much  labour  had  been 
taken  from  me.  From  Florence  I  went  to  Sicily,  and  thence  by 
the  first  ship  to  Constantinople.  Here  I  hoped  to  find  the  sum  of 
money  I  had  left  with  my  friend,  and  begged  him  to  receive  me 
into  his  house,  but  what  was  my  astonishment  when  he  inquired 
why  I  did  not  take  possession  of  my  own?  He  informed  me  that 
a  stranger  had  purchased  a  house  in  my  name  in  the  quarter  of 
the  Greeks,  and  had  told  the  neighbours  that  I  was  soon  coming.  I 
immediately  repaired  thither  with  my  friend,  and  was  joyfully  wel- 
comed by  all  my  old  acquaintance.  An  aged  merchant  gave  me  a 
letter  that  had  been  left  by  the  purchaser  of  the  house  for  me.  Its 
contents  were  as  follows: 


446  THE  SEVERED  HAND. 

•  •  Zaleukos !  Tiro  hands  shall  be  constantly  ready  to  work  for  you 
that  you  may  not  feel  the  loss  of  the  one.  The  house  you  now  own 
-with 'all  in  if  is  yours,  and  you  will  receive  every  year  sufficient  to 
make  you  rank  among  the  wealthy  of  your  countrymen.  May  you 
forgive  him  who  is  more  wretched  than  yourself!'' 

I  could  guess  who  was  the  writer  of  these  lines,  and  the  merchant 
told  me,  on  inquiry,  that  he  took  the  stranger,  who  wore  a  red 
cloak,  for  a  Frank.  I  now  knew  sufficient  to  convince  me  that 
the  stranger  was  not  devoid  of  generous  feelings.  I  found  all  in  my 
new  house  arranged  admirably,  and  also  a  shop  with  goods  more 
beautiful  than  I  ever  possessed.  Ten  years  have  now  elapsed,  and 
I  have  continued  my  commercial  travels  more  from  former  habit 
than  necessity,  yet  I  have  never  again  seen  the  country  where  I  met 
such  a  misfortune.  Ever  since  I  have  annually  received  a  thousand 
gold  pieces,  but  though  I  rejoice  to  know  that  that  unfortunate 
man  is  generous,  he  cannot  with  his  money  relieve  my  soul  from 
its  grief,  for  the  awful  picture  of  the  murdered  Bianca  will  for  ever 
be  present  with  me.  C.  A.  F. 


THE   END. 


C.  WHTTDJC,  BEAUFORT  HOUSE,  STBAXD. 


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